


You Belong to Me

by MotherGoddamn



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-03
Updated: 2013-09-17
Packaged: 2017-12-17 14:21:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 17
Words: 45,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/868562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MotherGoddamn/pseuds/MotherGoddamn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone knows that bond-servants get what they get. When Blaine enters the picture, it's harder to remember that. [Slave AU.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't specify in the tags so am using the note space to avoid confusion. This is a Kurt/Blaine fic that features relationships with Blaine/Dave and Kurt/Dave throughout various stages of the story. Please make note of that before continuing. Thank you!

 

**You Belong to Me  
Chapter 1**

  
  
Dave worried at his bottom lip and clutched at his knees with sweaty palms. Swallowing thickly, he looked over the boy on the floor, his head bowed and hands in his lap.  _This was happening. Jesus, it was_ really  _happening._  
  
Why the hell was he scared out of his damn mind?  
  
"I don't get this. I've paid for the boy, haven't I? I've signed all your paperwork. What's with all this red tape?"  
  
"You must understand, Mr. Karofsky," the slender man at the boy's side said in a smooth voice, "that we rarely allocate bond-servants to someone of Dave's young age. At the very least, we would usually not hand over such a new recruit."  
  
"Dad?" Dave said, a whine winding itself around the word. "He's the one I want. You  _promised."_  
  
"I'm not saying you can't have him, young man. I'm just curious as to why you feel the need. You're just a teenager. There must be others at school. Someone you can be with on--" His tongue edged out and licked across his lip as he sought for the words. "Someone that is your equal?"  
  
His father gave a cough and shifted in his seat. "Look, Mr--?"  
  
"I thought we agreed on Wes." The man smiled and it made no effort to find his eyes. "Please, call me Wes."  
  
"Look, Wes. Dave--" He looked over at him. "My son, he has been going through some issues lately." He coughed. "Urges."  
  
"Ah." The man nodded with a knowing smile that Dave wanted to rip from his head and tear into shreds. "I see."  
  
"Yes, and-- That's not the life I -  _we_  - want for him." His father took hold of his shoulder and gripped it firmly. "I just want my son to be happy. And owning one of these," he gestured a finger but didn't look at the boy with the bowed head, "will get it all out of his system. You know, without all the judgement or sneering. Just something he can have at home, and then he can go to school and be normal with his friends."  
  
Wes frowned. "Bond-servants aren't just  _experiments_ , Mr. Karofsky. They are meant to be owned for at least ten years."  
  
"I've read the brochure, Wes. I know what we're getting into." His father gave Dave a squeeze of his shoulder and let go. "And I think I've paid enough for it, don't you? The boy can do chores round the house, help me in the shop while Dave is at school. And then when Dave needs to er--"  
  
"Get it out of his system?" Wes said, a gentle mocking in his tone.  
  
"Yes, when he needs  _that_. Well, he has it." He made a strange clucking noise with his tongue and took a quick glance at the boy. "Are they dangerous? I heard that sometimes the training doesn't take and--"  
  
"Nothing but hearsay." Wes grinned and reached out a hand, stroking down the boy's neck with his index finger. He didn't flinch at the contact. "Trust me, Mr. Karofsky, all the bond-servants at Dalton have had every criminal element removed from them. They have been re- programmed from lawless individuals to useful members of society." Wes looked at Dave directly. "I'm sure you will find him very useful."  
  
"What did he do? To wind up here?" Wes didn't reply, simply took a sip of his tea and shook his head. "Sorry-- I --You said he was new? How new?"  
  
"He has been at our centre for little over the year. We usually like to give the newly indentured to those who are old hats at this sort of venture. There may be kinks to iron out." Wes put the cup down on the table and held up his hands. "Not flaws. Just little kinks. The boy is exceptionally trained, but even we cannot prepare him for what he may find outside our walls." Wes pushed a booklet across the table. "This has some tips. On discipline. Treats. Things like that." He crossed his legs primly and gave Dave a small smile. "Be sure to read over that young man. It's important."  
  
 _Patronising prissy fucker,_  Dave thought as he sneaked a glance at the boy, kneeling on the floor. Christ, he wanted to see his face. See if it was as good as it had looked in the catalogue. All pretty and shit like that. He felt a lurch in his stomach that could have been lust or could have been nerves. He could never tell these days.  
  
"Are we done or what?" Dave growled, clenching and unclenching his fists. "He's mine, right?'  
  
"Yes," Wes slimed with a narrow grin. "He's yours, David." He stood up and extended his hand to his father who took it limply. "We'll visit in one month's time. To check how he is settling in."  
  
"Good. Good." His father wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. He looked a little sick. "I'll see you out."  
  
Wes reached out and gave a little pat to the boy, ruffling his hair as he did. "You behave, okay?" For a split second Dave thought he saw the boy's jaw harden, Wes seemed to see it, too, because his grip tightened. The change was gone as quickly as it came and then he was meek again. Wes released his hold.  
  
"See you soon, David," he said with a nod and followed his father out.  
  
For a moment Dave didn't move. Just listened to the stones shift under the steps of his father and Wes. Listened to a car spurting into life, and wheels against gravel.  
  
Slowly, he raised his eyes and watched the boy, the soft tremble that slipped over his small frame. Dave's mouth felt dry and his head felt thick and foggy. He stood up and walked woodenly over to him. "Do you want--"  
  
No.  _That_  was wrong.  
  
"Let's go upstairs, Blaine."  


 

*

  
  
"Er, let's watch some TV," Dave said scratching at his neck and entering his room. He made it to the middle of the floor before realising that Blaine hadn't followed. Turning round, he saw that Blaine was stood in the doorway, his head tilted to the ground. Fuck, didn't he get a crick in his neck from that shit?  
  
Walking back, Dave grabbed at his arm, kicked the door shut and pulled him in. A little too roughly apparently as the boy jerked forward and hit him hard in the chest. Dave gasped at the contact and stared down at him. Blaine was too busy studying the whorls on Dave's hardwood floor.  
  
 _For fuck's sake!_  
  
Dave reached up a hand and, sort of,  _pushed_  Blaine's head back at the crown, forcing him to look up into his eyes.  
  
 _Oh._  
  
Yeah, this was better than the picture, alright. Dave moved a hand to the boy's face and traced over his features. He glided a knuckle over the boy's nose, a cheekbone before resting on his lips. With his other arm, he gripped Blaine by the waist and pulled him closer, enjoying the slight tremble that started throughout the other boy's body.  
  
He could feel himself hardening and pushed himself closer into Blaine, making sure that his erection pressed almost painfully into his hip. "Do you like that?" His voice wasn't his. It was too low. Too rough. Cruel. He could feel the vibrations spreading from his chest into Blaine's. "I bet you do. I bet you love it."  
  
Where the fuck was this coming from? He didn't know but it was a major turn on. He rotated his hips and sucked in the little gasp that Blaine released with a relish.  
  
Wait. He was supposed to read that booklet before he started the fun stuff. Fuck it, he had figured out his Windows 7 by himself, he could do this. It wasn't like he had to make sure he didn't feed Blaine after midnight or keep him away from water and shit. He was just a kid like him.  
  
 _Just a kid._  
  
Dave shoved that thought out of his head. They weren't  _people_. Not anymore. They were shitty people that had done shitty things to other people and were now paying for that. If you could call it paying. Dave grinded his hips again and Blaine's soft brown eyes shuttered shut. See? It wasn't like they didn't like it.  
  
"Go get on the bed," he growled, giving Blaine a little shove backward. The back of his knees hit the edge and he flew down hard, the little beige shift he was wearing riding up and exposing his thighs. Why did those Dalton pricks insist on dressing them like Jesus folk or something? It was  _weird_. He'd have to get him some clothes, none of his would fit. And he wasn't walking round dressed like Tiger Lily. For one thing that smock was shapeless and Dave wanted to see how that body curved and dipped.  _Wanted to see it badly._  
  
Maybe he could ask Hummel for some fashion advice.  _Hummel._  That was the last person he wanted to be thinking right now. Dave bet he'd love to be in his position right now. With a gorgeous boy lying on his bed waiting for him. Waiting to be fucked.  
  
Dave gasped a little at the thought and snatched the remote up with a shaking hand. Fucking. He was about to actually fuck someone. While he was dad was pottering about in the kitchen downstairs. Clicking through the channels he landed on  _The King and I_  and left it. Yul Brynner was kind of the man in Dave's mind. He had done  _The Magnificent Seven_  and that shit was awesome. He didn't give a fuck that he was prancing around like a fag, he could totally pull it off and why the hell was he even thinking about that anyway?  
  
He was about to lose his virginity. With a guy. A guy he  _owned_ , etc, etc, etc. This wasn't the time to be thinking about musicals or cowboys or what the fuck ever.  
  
He glanced back on the bed where the boy was watching him beneath thick eyelashes.  _They're not supposed to do that,_  he rememberd.  _Not allowed_. Dave stared down at him and the boy dropped his eyes. Dave like that. There was a little thrill of power that ran through him at it.  
  
Slowly, Dave undressed. A part of him thought that he should feel self -conscious or shy. But it was buried deep down within him, hidden below the arousal. Instead, all he could think about is what Blaine’s skin would feel like aligned against his. What his sweat would taste like. How tight his ass was going to feel around his cock.  
  
 _Wait until I tell Azimio about this_ , he thought excitedly as he pulled his jeans down, cursing as the waistline chafed his junk. Not that he could actually tell Azimio the truth of course. Azimio would get an extremely edited version of the events. In that remake Blaine would be a Brenda or a Barbara, or hell, why not go the fuck out and call him Sally? And Sally wouldn’t be quivering on bed looking all sad about it in an outfit from  _The Village_. No. She’d be excited and bouncing around, tits flying everywhere.  
  
Dave’s erect cock hearing about the bouncing tits, waned slightly. It sucked lying to his best friend but overall he was doing this for him. For his family. His dad was right, this was just some sort of weird abnormality he needed to get out of his system. Like those freaks who enjoyed jogging. It wasn’t like Dave was going to be like this forever.  
  
Naked, Dave gestured to Blaine to follow suit, but of course he is still avoiding eye contact after the stare down. “You, too,” Dave said softly, almost tenderly. “Take off that potato sack.”  
  
For a moment, he thought Blaine was going to ignore him. But then he stripped off quickly, chest and stomach coming into view as he tore it over his head. Folding the garment, he placed it at the foot of the bed and pressed his hands upon his knees.  
  
 _Perfect._  
  
The kid was absolutely perfect. What had he done to end up at Dalton Reform anyway? How much trouble could a seventeen year old cause?  
  
Murder? Dave licked his lips. Maybe. They didn’t exactly send shop lifters there. Whatever he’d done it must have been pretty bad. Instead of scaring Dave, it kind of excited him. That he had this power over someone who could do something so atrocious it would land him in the role of a bond-servant. The lowest of the low.  
  
Dave stepped closer and buried a palm in the curls of the boy’s head. He pulled him to him and pressed his mouth against his groin. It wasn't actually  _doing anything_ , but still recovering from the tits incident his penis was practically doing jumping jacks for joy. Dave groaned and Blaine whimpered.  
  
It was slight, barely heard under his own groan, but Karofsky froze completely.  
  
And suddenly he didn't want this. The room was too small, too hot and the kid (the kid!) was too close. He suddenly doesn’t care if Blaine wiped out a nunnery with a spiked stiletto, he just wants away. Jesus, why did he have to make that fucking pitiful noise and—  
  
 _Fuck_.  
  
Blaine’s tongue was licking gently at slit of his cock and whatever Dave had been thinking had got the last train the hell out of dodge. He grabbed the boy’s head with both hands and pushed him nearer, gasping as Blaine’s nose buried itself into his pubes. He felt resistance under his hands and frowned down at the boy. Blaine stared back up, his eyes dropping to the leaking prick in front of him and up again. Dave got it and loosened his hold so Blaine could move. So he could work. Licking gently along the shaft, his hands cupped Dave’s balls and squeezed every so often. It had only been minutes but Dave felt like he had been in this room since last Saturday. He was close, too close and he wanted this to last.  
  
“Listen—" he started but then Blaine  _really_  began to work him, his hands cupping his ass and kneading the flesh as he mouthed and sucked along his cock. He delivered a particular long, wet lick down a vein Dave wasn’t aware he even had, and the next minute he saw fucking Jupiter as Blaine took his whole cock into his mouth at once. “Wait!” he gasped out but Blaine ignored him, speeding up and Dave can’t even remember how to formulate words let alone how get him to quit. Instead, he just held onto Blaine’s hair and started to thrust into the hot, velvet wet that was his mouth.  
  
Dave squeezed his eyes shut and tried to conjure, something, anything that will keep him from coming. But how can he think when Blaine was making that slurping, disgusting noise that shouldn’t be so hot but _really, really_  is. “Please,” he choked out and then Blaine gave another squeeze of his balls.  
  
Dave didn't remember coming. He did, however, recall a bright light and a possible conversation with God.  


 

*

  
  
When he opened his eyes he was lying on his side, stickiness staining his stomach. Blaine was lying beside him staring up at the ceiling, his hands clasped together neatly. It was kind of really odd and kind of really cute. Dave pushed himself up on the bed and stared down at him. He should fuck him now, he really should. He’d been waiting for the past three months for everything to be finalised, but he just didn't seem to have the energy at the moment. Plus Blaine was  _his_  now. There was no rush.  
  
“Hey,” Dave nudged him with his hand, Blaine turned and looked him in the face. He quickly remembered and ducked his eyes. That must be confusing, trying to give someone your attention without looking at them, so Dave let him off. It was his first night, after all. “I’m going to take a nap.”  
  
Blaine gave a nod and Dave waited. After a minute he sighed, “I mean now. I’m going to take a nap now.” Blaine’s eyes furrowed in confusion and Dave kind of wanted to slap him for being dumb but he was too blissed out to even move his limbs. “That means off the bed. You know you’re not allowed.”  
  
Blaine practically burst into flames. His face turned bright red and ran all the way over to the tips of his ears. His jaw tightened like it had with Wes earlier. A slow simmering tension seemed to burn around the room and then eased itself out quietly returning to the previous cool. He nodded again and moved his legs over the edge of the mattress and lowered himself to the floor.  
  
Dave smiled and stroked over his chest. He should really shower but his whole body felt like jelly. He pulled the covers over himself and sank back, replaying the last half hour over in his head. Well, tried to. He could hear a pathetic snivelling from the floor. Was the kid crying? Dave waited for that burst of sympathy or whatever the hell it was to return from before. It didn’t.  
  
Thank God, his dad would kill him after he’d blown so much on him. He hated when Dave wasted money. Hell, he still went on about all those fucking recorder lessons. That said he wasn’t a  _total_  monster. Sitting up, he plucked a pillow from behind him. “Here,” he called as he threw it down onto the floor.  
  
Sometimes he was  _far_  too soft.


	2. Chapter 2

**You Belong to Me  
Chapter 2**

  
  
"You loved it," he taunted. "Just admit it."  
  
Kurt rolled his eyes and slammed the locker shut. "I  _tolerated_  it. It was something I allowed to happen to me. I did not, repeat, did not love it."  
  
"You got all excited! You grabbed Puck's arm." Finn frowned. "Then  _he_  got all excited. Which was weird."  
  
"It was loud. I jumped." Kurt smoothed down an imaginary stray hair. "That's all."  
  
"You," Finn leaned in close. "--whooped."  
  
"I did not like your silly boys film, okay?" Kurt snapped as Mercedes joined them, encircling her arm with his. "Finn is spreading vile and malicious lies about me."  
  
"Oh! Gimme!"  
  
"Okay, last night Kurt came with me and Puck to see, wait for it, The Fast and the Furious. No, Fast and Furious. Wait, is it Fast Furious? Too Fast and Too Furious? Faster and Furio-"  
  
"Stop!" Kurt hit his shoulder with the back of his hand. "The new one. Just say that."  
  
"Thanks, dude. It was like a loop I was stuck in or something. Anyway, he  _loved it."_  
  
 _"I didn't!_ "  
  
"Really?" Finn grinned. "Then you won't want to come round to Puck's for a movie marathon of the others, will you?"  
  
Kurt studied his nails and shrugged. "When-- When are you thinking of having it?"  
  
"Aha!" Finn pointed his finger in the air and gave it a twirl. "Guilty! I bet you're the one who keeps moving my Jason Statham DVD's, too!"  
  
"Hello, Hudson!" A cheery voice called out. "Hey, Hummel! Mercedes, hope you're well."  
  
"Hey, Karofsky," they all replied absently, turning back to each other as he passed by.  
  
"And I bet you're the one who--" Finn stopped and gave his head a shake. "Did-- did Karofsky just  _smile_  at us?"  
  
"Was he being sarcastic?" Mercedes asked. "Can you even say hello sarcastically?"  
  
"Hellooo, hello.  _He-lloo_." Finn shook his head. "Helloooo."  
  
"Stop trying, Finn," Kurt muttered. He looked at the boy's retreating back and then at the locker behind him. Why wasn't his face in it?  
  
"Is he skipping?" Finn asked. "Oh, my God. Look! He is helping Jacob pick up his books!"  
  
"He didn't even push them out of his hands first," Mercedes said. "And yesterday, he loaned Artie a pencil and he didn't try to stab him with it."  
  
Finn smiled slowly. "I bet he has finally got himself a girlfriend. Maybe that's all he needed. Someone to let off steam with. Ever noticed that single people are usually total jerks?"  
  
Kurt and Mercedes stared back.  
  
"Not that-- I mean. I wasn't saying-- I've gotta go!" Finn gave Kurt a manly punch in the shoulder that nearly put him through the metal behind him. "Sorry! Sorry!"  
  
"Leave this place!" Kurt hissed, brushing down at his jacket. He turned back to Karofsky as Finn left them, and Mercedes began to tell him about her night. He looked  _different_  somehow, and not just because he didn't have a classmate hanging off his knuckles.  
  
As if sensing his gaze, Karofsky turned round and stared straight at Kurt. And winked.  
  
Kurt couldn't help the shiver that ran down his spine.  
  


*

  
  
Dave bit back a moan, as he pushed his head back into the pillow. What was this now? Six hours? He really needed to get started on the French Revolution essay but Blaine was proving too much of a distraction.  _Fuck Robespierre._  
  
Dave thrust up, his thumbs denting deep into Blaine's hips. His dad was really fucking pissed at him for how much time he was spending in his room. It was like the summer when he first discovered the delights of his right hand. The timing had clashed with the release of High School Musical, so Dave hadn't seen daylight for about a year.  
  
Actually, fuck Zac Efron, this was a thousand times better. It would be just a tad better if the boy currently bouncing on his cock wasn't completely flaccid, with his eyes squeezed shut and hands clenched into fists at his side. Dave hated that. The limp dick he could live with, but he didn't like that the kid wouldn't even look at him when they did it. It made him feel like he was doing something wrong.  
  
Dave gritted his teeth as his own dick began to soften in Blaine's ass. Closing his eyes he tried to call back some of their previous positions. To concentrate on the small, breathy noises that would tumble from Blaine's lips as he pumped himself up and down. Think about the trickles of sweat that would often run down Blaine's chest and how when Dave would lean forward to lick them away, the angle would do something to the boy above and he'd let a gasp or a groan loose. It was the only time Blaine's cock would show an interest and made Dave want to do it again. To make him feel good.  
  
Two things stopped him. One, that was a pretty gay thing to do and Dave wasn't gay. Two, the handbook told him not to. Bond-servants weren't supposed to be equal. Their mutual pleasure wasn't needed and most certainly wasn't encouraged. Because, apparently, that led to feelings. The last thing a owner wanted was to start thinking about them as anything other than an object. Blaine was nothing more than a really big sock. That's all.  
  
The headboard began to batter hard against the wall, the sound mingling with the sound of skin slapping skin. Dave pushed up harder, and rose up with one hand behind him on the bed and the other encircling Blaine's waist. He dragged him forward and buried his face into the boy's chest. Biting and sucking every section of skin his mouth could reach. Blaine, unbalanced, gasped and settled his hands on Dave's shoulders. Dave barely registered it, concentrating on hitting home. The angle was, to be honest, worse. He'd slipped out of Blaine a little and his public hair was caught on, well fucking something, but Dave was too close to care. Even when Blaine's nails began to dig into Dave's skin painfully he drilled on.  
  
He needed deeper. He needed tighter.  
  
He practically flung Blaine through the air and into the mattress, never breaking contact and pounding even harder into him, his face buried into his neck mouthing and nipping. Sure enough to leave marks.  
  
"Please!" Blaine gasped out. The first word he had spoken in the two weeks he'd been there. "Please."  
  
They took Dave surprise and with a yelp, he was coming and coming hard. He rode out the shock waves  
  
He winced as he pulled himself out, wrinkling his nose at the mess. Least a sock contained all that crap.  
  
"That was good." He told him. The handbook said compliments were a nice touch. "Well done."  
  
Blaine nodded and moved off the bed to his space on the floor. Dave rubbed at his neck. Should he give him a punch in the shoulder or something? Ruffle his hair? He hated this bit.  _After_. He always felt like some sort of bad guy.  
  
"It's not my fault, you know!" he said before he could stop himself. "You put yourself here. There's no need to make  _me_  feel like shit."  
  
Because if he was truthful, deep down, and no matter how gay it was, it be nice if Blaine would act like he had liked it. Just once.  
  
Receiving no reaction from Blaine, Dave stepped over him and opened the window. His dad was right. It smelled like a bleach factory in here of late.  
  
"I'm going for a shower. I'll bathe you after, yeah?"  
  
Blaine nodded. Dave opened his mouth, snapping it shut again when nothing came to mind. The kid didn't care. What was the point? He was a thing. A vibrator with eyebrows. Why waste breath on him?  
  
Wrapping a towel over his arm, Dave sniffed the air with a grimace. Fuck. God knew why Rhianna loved the smell of it so much.  
  


*

  
  
Kurt adjusted the volume on his car stereo, wincing as Paramore filled the car. That was it. Finn was banned from this vehicle for life. For life.  
  
Ejecting the CD he threw it behind him into the back, hoping that rattle was something sharp and evil scratching the disc. He replaced it with his  _Legally Blonde_ < album and began to hum along to the opening number. It was kind of awful, but he owed it to the world to attempt it at least six times before denouncing it as a musical abomination. With a shudder he recalled his bootleg of the Gone With the Wind show. And they wondered why he didn't believe in God.  
  
 _Omigod  
Omigod, you guys!  
Looks like Elle's gonna win the prize  
If there ever was a perfect couple, this one qualifies  
Omigod, you guys!  
  
Omigod, this is happening  
Our own homecoming queen and king  
Finally she'll be trying on a huge engagement ring for size  
Omigod, you guys!_  
  
Okay. This wasn't so bad! It was getting kind of catchy! In fact it was, wait it was skipping!  
  
With a frustrated sigh, he popped out the CD and inspected the damage. There was some sort of red, sticky substance covering the disc in the shape of thumb prints. Gigantic, moronic thumb prints. Finn! And that was clearly tomato sauce! It was bad enough that Kurt was having to go on this evening dash for supplies, since Finn had managed to drink his own weight in milk yet again, but this was something else. God forbid he actually treat people’s property with any respect.  _This was the final straw!_  Kurt thought as he searched in the glove box for a replacement. He had a good mind to--  
  
 **THUD.**  
  
Kurt snapped his head up to see a blur of pink flying up and over his windscreen, his heels hit the brakes and he screamed along with them.  
  
No! No! No! He had not just hit someone. Please don't let him have just hit someone. With shaky hands he unbuckled his belt, opened the door and slid out.  
  
"Hello?" he called to the back of the car, approaching gingerly. "Anyone there?"  
  
Please don't be dead. Please don't let him have hurt anyone.  
  
Kurt glanced round but the neighbourhood was quiet. He swallowed thickly and closed his eyes. Then with a burst of adrenaline he completed the distance to the back of the car.  
  
Holding his breath, he opened his eyes. And gasped in relief.  
  
Oh, thank God! Thank God. There was no one there. Kurt ducked down and checked under the car. Clear! Yes!  
  
But if he hadn't hit anyone what had that noise been? And the flash of flesh colour that had flew past his vision. It must have been  _something._  
  
Kurt tapped against his lips as he thought. "Shh," he told the car as it rev'ed into life, giving it a little pat.  
  
A grocery bag? No, it wouldn't have made that noise. An animal? Then why no blood or body? Maybe a--  
  
REV'ED INTO LIFE?  
  
Damnit! The roadkill was stealing his car!  
  
Kurt spun round and ran back to the open door, not even thinking about who could be waiting in the seat.  
  
"What do you think--" The words died in his throat as the naked boy turned to look at him. "What on Earth?"  
  
The boy made a feeble shove at Kurt's chest and began to bang down on the pedals weakly. The car gave a groan and shuddered. Kurt leaned across, dashing for the keys, ignoring the psycho who was trying to push him from the car.  
  
"It's a manual, you ass," Kurt snapped as he pulled the keys out of the ignition. "Now--," Kurt's voice faltered as stranger turned his brown eyes towards him, the intensity in his gaze nearly knocked him from his feet. "Now get out of my car."  
  
The boy mumbled and Kurt tried to keep his eyes trained to his face, a blush covering his own. "Please."  
  
"Sorry?" Against his better judgement, Kurt leant forward.  
  
"Please," he repeated. He looked up and stared into Kurt's eyes, as liquid filled his. "Help?"  
  
For a moment Kurt could only stare wordlessly back. Turning slowly, his hands tight on the doorframe, Kurt looked behind him to the bush that the bizarre boy had leaped from. Distantly he could hear men shouting, angry men.  
  
"You're being chased?" Kurt asked glancing back. Of course. They must have taken his clothes. Some nasty prank by a bunch of kids twice this one's size, probably.  
  
The boy nodded slowly and shifted a panicked stare over Kurt's shoulder. "Help," he said again.  
  
Kurt licked his lips. The voices were nearing and any moment they'd be on them. But Kurt couldn't just give a naked hitch-hiker a ride, he had just tried to steal his car for goodness sake!  
  
"I don't think--" Kurt's arm was grabbed and he was pulled forward. A pair of brown eyes stared into his own. Kurt had never seen such terror or sadness in anyone. Not ever.  
  
"Please. Help."  
  
Kurt knew then that he couldn't leave him. Even if he was a nude Bundy, he needed help. He couldn't leave the boy to the force that was coming from behind him.  
  
"Move over! Quick!" Kurt climbed up as the boy scrambled over to the passenger seat and, good God, Kurt had just had this upholstery dry cleaned. "Okay, you be Paul Walker." Kurt twisted the key into the ignition and put the car into gear. "I'm Vin Diesel."  



	3. Chapter 3

**You Belong to Me  
Chapter 3**

  
  
Dave tore through the trees behind the runaway boy. The branches clutched at his skin and tore away pieces for themselves but he didn't notice in his rush.  
  
 _Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!_  
  
How could he have been so stupid? Why the fuck had he left the damn window open? Why hadn't he just gave him a ladder and fixed a fucking snack for Blaine's trip?  
  
"Blaine!" he yelled as his father ran behind him, his breath coming in jagged bursts. He was going to catch hell for this when they found him.  
  
 _If_  they found him.  
  
"What were you thinking?" his father choked out, stumbling.  
  
"How the hell did I know he'd climb out the damn window?" Dave spat back as he jumped to the right. The main road was up ahead. He had to be there. How far could a naked guy get? In  _Lima_  of all places.  
  
"Maybe-- maybe--" his father panted. "You'd just have took it easy on him, then he wouldn't have ran away." He stopped and grabbed at his knees, getting back his breath. "I tried to take him to the shop about six times these past two weeks, but you-- You were too besotted!"  
  
Dave whirled round and glared at him. "Isn't that why you got me him? It wasn't  _my_  idea, dad. It was yours!"  
  
"To help you, Dave. But you can't let this thing of yours control you! The whole point of the boy--"  
  
"Blaine. He's called Blaine, dad."  
  
"Yes! Fine, whatever. The whole point of him was to get it out of your system. So you could be normal. But staying in your room all hours of the day with him isn't normal, Dave. It's unhealthy!"  
  
Dave shook his head, turning back round. Jesus, he was trying wasn't he? Why didn't his dad get that?  
  
"Dave," his father whispered, placing a hand around his elbow. "You read the handbook. You know how Dalton feels about these things. We have to find him."  
  
"Then stop talking, dad!" Dave cried out in frustration. "And help me look!"  
  
"I'm just--" A screech of tires from behind them cut them off and Dave turned towards the noise.  
  
No.  
  
 _Blaine!_  
  
Dave broke into a run.  
  


*

  
  
"Do you--- want a drink? Or something to eat?" Kurt asked, flipping up and down on his heels. The boy didn't answer, just pulled Kurt's blanket tighter around him and continued to stare at his feet.  
  
"You can sit on the bed, you know." Kurt took a step nearer and he flinched. Kurt stopped and worried at his upper lip. What had happened to him?  
  
Getting him into the house had been a mission. Kurt hadn't exactly relished getting a naked boy from his car to the door without giving pervy old Mr. Hartman next door a heart attack or an erection. Luckily, it was beginning to get dark and the night shielded them from too much scruntity. Kurt had found his picnic blanket from the back of his car and wrapped it around his passenger, and then gently lead him down the path. He didn't seem to notice the pebbles that dug sharply into his bare feet.  
  
Then there was getting him downstairs.  
  
"Kurt?" his father had called. "Did you get the milk?"  
  
The stranger had practically gone into spasms on hearing the voice and began to pull back towards the door. Kurt had grabbed him at the arm and held him.  
  
"It's just my dad," he had whispered. "You're okay!" The boy had just shook his head and tried again for the exit. "Fine! We'll go to my room. Just us." Glancing around, he had jerked his head to the stairs and called back to his father the store was out and that he had a mountain of homework. His father had grunted back something about " _Coffee-Mate_  tasting like metal" and then they had made a run for stairs leading down to Kurt's basement room.  
  
And now they were alone. And Kurt had no idea what to do. He hadn't expected to get a naked boy in his room until college. If only there was a handbook or something on how to deal with this type of thing.  
  
"Were you attacked?" Kurt lowered himself gently and tried to look into his face. "Did someone hurt you? Was it the people chasing you?"  
  
Kurt had walked in on his father watching Law and Order: SVU enough. He knew the signs. Skittish, nervous. Flinching from the touch of others. "I think-- I think maybe I should call the police."  
  
"No! Promise!" The boy's eyes snapped up to his, the intensity in them throwing out the beginnings of a flame. "Please!"  
  
Kurt was in over his head. He needed his father. With a slow nod, he dropped his eyes and reached out slowly with his hand, his fingers encircling the boy's wrist, the pad of his thumb smoothing over the skin. Kurt was pleased to see the action seemed to have an almost calming effect. All he had to do was convince him to let him involve his father and then he could actually help him.  
  
"Okay. It's okay."  
  
"Thanks." He coughed. "Thank you, Vin."  
  
"Vin? Oh, no. Ha. No, my name is Kurt." He was struck by how bizarre of an introduction this was. "What's yours?"  
  
"It's--" He licked his dry lips and Kurt realized for the first time just how attractive he was. Then cursed himself for how inappropiate the thought was. "My name is Blaine."  
  
"Hello, Blaine." Kurt smiled softly. "Listen, I think I should go upstairs and get my--"  
  
"No!" Blaine's hand came down on Kurt's and the grip was tight and total, Kurt's fingers crushing against his skin.  
  
"Blaine! It's okay. You can trust me. And you can trust my fath--" Kurt stopped with a frown, staring down at their joined hands. Blaine let go slowly, leaving Kurt's by itself, framed by white marks from the brutality of Blaine's grip.  
  
Kurt pressed his thumb deeper into to the skin, wondering if he had felt what he had thought he had felt under Blaine's flesh.  
  
Hard. Rectangle. Like a chip.  
  
Kurt moved his hand away and gasped at the tiny tattooed print.  
  
 **PROPERTY OF DALTON.**  
  


*

  
  
"Do you have any idea of the mess you are in?" Wes said calmly. He didn't look particularly mad. That is, if you weren't looking, but Dave could feel the tension pouring off him and filling the tiny room to the brim.  
  
"It's only been a few hours!" Dave's father voice was strained and unbalanced. "Just give us more time, please!"  
  
Dave squeezed his eyes shut and tried to push the heavy sick feeling in his chest away. It had lain there since he had first heard the thud and squealing tires. The rush of mingled relief and grief at seeing the empty space on the road was something that refused to let go of him. Why the hell did he feel like this? It wasn't as if he gave a shit about the kid. He was just a thing. Dave supposed this was the way people who lost pets felt.  
  
Not a cat, though. He refused to believe anyone gave a fuck when they went missing. Cats were shit.  
  
"I don't get why we can't just go to the police?" Dave shrugged, trying and failing to look as calm as Wes. "He's a naked dude. Someone must have seen him."  
  
Wes snapped a look to his father and something passed through the air between them.  
  
"No police, Dave. Dalton would prefer to handle this themselves," Wes said, his eyes still glued to his dad. "Could you give us a few moments? I need to talk to your father alone."  
  
Dave stayed still for a moment, his fingers closed into fists as he looked them both over. Finally, his father gave a defeated little nod.  
  
"Go up to your room, son."  
  
With a grunt, Dave rose and made his way past the two. He saw and loathed the tiny sneer that crawled down Wes' nose. Leaving the room, he swung the door shut and pressed his face to the door, his ear to the wood.  
  
"Please. Don't blame him. It was my fault." Dave winced at how pathetic his father sounded. And it was because of him. Him and his stupid careless cock.  
  
"I know it was, Mr. Karofsky. You knew all the dangers when you took out the loan." Loan? What fucking loan! "And you knew the dangers in taking Blaine, but most of all you knew the dangers of not taking care of either."  
  
"You can't-- I'll get him back! I promise!"  
  
"No. We'll get him back. I don't think you and your son are equipped to deal with this, do you?" Wes' voice twisted into something sharp and unrecognisable. "You damn fool! Do you realise what this could do, if this gets out?"  
  
What the fuck was going on here? Bond-servants weren't exactly popular, but they were legal! Why couldn't they just get the police to stop choking on doughnuts and do something fucking useful?  
  
"Don't take the house! Please, we'll sort something. I'll get you more money!"  
  
"Really? And will we be loaning you this, too, Mr. Karofsky?"  
  
"I'll do anything. Just tell me what you need and I'll do anything!"  
  
Dave was sure he could hear the cynical smirk stretching Wes' face "You really love that boy, don't you?"  
  
"I just--" His father's sobs tore through Dave's gut. "I just want him to be happy again. That's all."  
  
"Well, maybe we can arrange something." There was a shift in sound and the following was muffled. "...tracking device...resort..."  
  
A silence arrived and was then broken by small clipped steps. Dave realised too late that they were coming towards him. He jumped back, but not quick enough. The door was opening.  
  
"I thought your father told you to go to your room, Dave?" Wes asked, the look in his eyes chilled him to the marrow.  
  
Without a word, he spun on his heel and took the stairs two at a time.


	4. Chapter 4

 

**You Belong to Me  
Chapter 4**

  
  
Kurt was dreaming. Any moment Piaf would break into his thoughts and he'd wake up to the sun streaming across his face.  
  
He blinked. He waited.  
  
No one informed him about their lack of regrets. This was real.  
  
With a tiny gasp, he let go of Blaine's hand and crawled backwards. Blaine took back his wrist and encircled his legs with his arms, burying his face against his knees.   
  
A bond-servant! In his home! Kurt opened his mouth, but there was nothing but air on his tongue. He suddenly felt very dirty and very wrong. Only the most perverted had bond-servants. Oh, yeah, they told you all that crap about having them round the house to dust the cobwebs or make the roast, but everyone knew what they were  _really_  there for. The only roasting that was going on was in the bedroom. Just because it was legal didn't make it right. And just because you could afford a person didn't mean you could just buy them like cattle. Kurt had signed enough petitions and worn enough badges. He knew his feelings on the owning of human beings.  
  
But this was  _different_. He never expected to have one curled up into a ball in his own home.  
  
Oh, God. This meant Blaine was a criminal! A pretty bad criminal if he had been converted into a-- a freaking tool! What if he was dangerous? What if--  
  
A tiny sob, so low Kurt barely heard beneath the beating of his heart. Slowly he moved forward, moved closer, towards the boy wound so tightly into himself that he could fit into the confines of a locket.  
  
"Blaine?" Kurt said in a whisper. He placed a hand on his shoulder, ready for the flinch when it came. He kept his touch light and safe. "Blaine, I--"  
  
Blaine shook his head and pulled the material tighter round himself. A tremble settled over his skin and held on tight. Every now and then a whimper would escape his throat.   
  
All Kurt wanted to do was hold him, but his thoughts kept him rooted to the spot.   
  
Bond-servant. Criminal. Slave.  
  
 _Boy._  
  
A boy in pain that was shivering and crying on Kurt's basement floor.  
  
Suddenly, all his thoughts burned away and he had his arms around him, rocking him, soothing him.   
  
Blaine didn't hug back. But he didn't pull away, either.  
  
Kurt was rocked by a sudden conviction that was almost religious in its power.  
  
He was going to keep Blaine safe. No matter what.  


 

* * *

  
  
"Dude, what is with you? I only asked for a pen?" Finn asked as Kurt jumped for the fifth time that day.   
  
Kurt gave a huff and handed him one, looking back towards Mr. Schue. Absently, he wondered why the man was incapable of writing in a straight line on the board but it was a wasted effort. Already his mind was wandering back to his basement, to the boy hiding under his bed in Finn's old clothes. Waiting until Kurt's father was safe at work.  
  
He had barely slept. Barely moved from the huddle at the foot of his bed. Instead he had talked with Blaine. Well,  _he*_  had talked. Blaine had just stared over his shoulder into space. Judging from the bruises and the cuts that scarred the boy's body, Kurt couldn't blame him for wanting to be somewhere else.  
  
Kurt had so badly wanted to involve his father, but he couldn't risk it. His dad was a good man, and he felt the same about bond-servants as he did, but he knew his father would suggest the police should handle it. And then they would return him back to whoever Blaine had been running away from. Kurt couldn't betray him like that, no matter what it was that he may have done.  
  
"Kurt?" Mr. Schue spoke up. "How about you sing the solo on this track?"  
  
"Mr. Schue?" Rachel's arm shot into the air. "I think you mispronounced my name."  
  
Kurt sighed heavily. "Actually, do you mind if I sit this one out? I'm not feeling particularly Broadway today."  
  
Rachel cut air as she spun round to look at him. "What's the matter with you?" she hissed. "It's  _Sweet Charity_ , Kurt!"  
  
"Yeah, you've been quiet all morning," Finn said. "Are you still sulking over me using your face cream?"  
  
"No, it's not-- Wait. What? Why are you touching my face cream? That's Elizabeth Arden's limited edition!"  
  
"Oh, do you think she'll be mad? I only used a little! It was just that the new Victoria's Secret catalogue came out and--"  
  
"Stop talking! Stop talking now! I do not want to know the ways in which you violated my cream and threatened my skin care!" Kurt closed his eyes and counted to ten. "No, it's not that. At least, it  _wasn't_  that. It's just--" He licked at his lips, taking in the faces of the club. "What do you think of bond-servants?"  
  
"Kurt, I don't really think that's an appropiate conversation, do you?" Mr. Schue tugged at his neckline. "It's a bit--"  
  
"Seedy? Wrong? Yes! I know." Kurt gave a little jump in his chair. "I just don't understand how people can agree with it."  
  
"I totally know what you mean," Quinn said with a nod at Kurt.   
  
He smiled back at her. "Tha--"  
  
"It's just escaping capital punishment! It's the easy way out in my opinion."  
  
"Quinn!" Rachel gasped. "You honestly think being owned as some sort of--of--"  
  
"Walking dildo?" Puck volunteered. His high five was left hanging. "What?"  
  
"Succint, Noah." Rachel turned back to Quinn. "You think that's actually  _easy_?"  
  
"Yes! I think it's getting off lightly! They committed murders. Hurt children, Rachel. They aren't just jaywalkers."  
  
Kurt frowned. That didn't fit. That wasn't the boy who had sobbed in his arms. Kurt didn't know why he knew, he was just sure.   
  
"What if they didn't do anything? What if it was a mistake?"  
  
Quinn shook her head and laughed humourlessly. "Really? A mistake? Look, I know it's not the most liberal of opinions, but the least you could is respect it."  
  
"But people aren't objects, Quinn!" Kurt threw up his hands. "You can't just use the law to your advantage!"  
  
Puck rolled his eyes. "These are people that didn't just break the law. They demolished it. They don't have rights anymore. Yeah, I think it's messed up, but I'm not going to cry myself to sleep over it." Puck shrugged. "Way of the world."  
  
"Well, it's a messed up world if you ask me," Mercedes sighed.  
  
"I think it's wrong," Finn said in a quiet voice. "I'm not saying that they don't deserve punishment, but like that? How is that re-- re-- Er, Kurt?"  
  
"Rehabilitation?" he offered.  
  
"No, it's not that. Er, they deserve to be given the chance to, like, become better? To fix what they did." Kurt opened his mouth but Mercedes gave him him a slight shake of her head. He let it ride. "Brain washing them and using them like-- well that stops that happening. And, I think that's wrong." He gave a shrug. "That's all."  
  
If Kurt still had an attraction to the boy he'd be melting on the floor. Instead he settled on a smile.  
  
"Guys?" Mr. Schue rubbed at the back of his neck. "I really think this is a bit  _too_  much of a sensitive subject to have in class--"  
  
"Oh. Like religion?" Kurt asked innocently.  
  
Mr. Schue sighed. "Let's get back to the lesson."  


 

* * *

  
  
Dave was having a bad day. Fuck. Dave was having a bad  _life_. He stormed across the car park, hands dug deep into his pockets as he thought back to the night before.  
  
Everything had been going so well. Maybe his father had been right, he  _had_  been over-using Blaine. Maybe if he'd been a little nicer he'd-- He'd what? Want to wear Dave's class ring? No, this wasn't Dave's fault. It was  _Blaine's_. Dave had used him exactly as he was supposed to. He used the toaster a lot, too, but you didn't see that climbing out of windows.  
  
Dave stopped at his car, key frozen mid air to the lock. He didn't want to go home. He didn't want to see his father's disappointed face. Didn't want to crawl into an empty bed.   
  
"--Really. Thanks for what you said today," a prissy voice was saying from behind. Hummel it had to be. Any higher and dogs would be swarming around the lot. "I can't believe that in this day and age people would be okay with bond-servants."  
  
Ice flooded Dave's veins and set up home.  _They knew_! They knew. Hummel and that lanky streak piece of piss Hudson. They were talking about him!  
  
"--bother. I just think it's weird. I mean, I never felt comfortable owning  _sea monkeys_."  
  
Dave turned slightly and took in the sight behind him. Hummel was leaning against his car, fingers tugging on a necklace dressed in some horror of a gold lame and blue pinafore thing. He looked like the bastard child of Belle and Lumiere. Hudson was looming over him and smiling down like he was going to ask him to fucking prom or something. Just friends. Yeah, right.  
  
"I just-- I just think that people just accept it too readily. What if someone was innocent, Finn? Or had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or if they were really, really sorry?" Hummel stared off as if something was scratching at his mind. "What do you think?"  
  
Hudson gave a solemn frown as his brows furrowed in deep concentration."Do you think that the McDonald's two for one offer is still on?"  
  
Hummel sighed and opened the door. "That was fun while it lasted," he said before climbing in. Hudson shrugged and walked round to the passenger side.  
  
Dave hadn't realised he had stopped breathing until the car was gone. He let his breath go in one long gust and sank against his own car. They didn't know. It was just a coincedence.  
  
Closing his eyes, he tried to ignore the flush of images that flooded his mind. Blaine, hot and sweaty beneath him. His eyes staring into nothing as Dave pushed himself in. Harder and harder. Hummel mincing down the hall dressed like Lady Gaga's laundry basket. Lips tight and ass tighter as he looked through Dave as if he was nothing but air.  
  
"Friends of yours?" Wes said sending Dave forty foot in to the sky.  
  
"What the fucking fuck, man!" Dave glared at him. "Why are you here? This is my  _school!_ "  
  
"I wanted to talk with you. About Blaine. See if there was anything you can recall?"  
  
"I told you everything," Dave grunted. "Why don't you just activate that chip thing in his wrist?"  
  
"That's a last resort," his voice was distracted, his eyes following the direction of Hudson and Hummel. "There are-- consequences. Glitches in the product. I would prefer to find the merchandise as it was."  
  
 _Merchandise?_  Dave pushed the twinge of guilt away.  
  
"Yeah, well, I told you everything."  
  
"Not everything. Who were those boys?"  
  
"What? Just people from school." Wes gave him a narrowed stare. "Fine. The giant was Finn Hudson. The other one dressed like Helen Keller was Kurt Hummel."  
  
"Boyfriends?"  
  
"You noticed that, huh? No. Their parents are fucking." Dave enjoyed the flinch on Wes' face. You'd think that someone who sold it wouldn't mind hearing the word.   
  
"Popular?"  
  
"You writing an article? Yeah, I guess Hudson is. Hummel's the resident fag so, he isn't."  
  
"Hmm," Wes looked towards the road again. "He must be very lonely."  
  
"I guess--?"   
  
"And to be a homosexual, in a small town like this? It must be painful." Wes made a flapping gesture at him. "I mean, look at what lengths you went to. And you are four times the size of him."  
  
"Hey!"  
  
"I mean you can handle yourself," Wes tutted. "No, this could work." He smiled brightly. "Dave. I think I know how you and your father can help work off your debt."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is actually around two years old and is already complete as I am in the process of slowly moving all my writing onto AO3. With this in mind, Finn Hudson is a character that appears in this story and some of the later chapters involve violent circumstances. Without giving too much away, I want those reading to know that although character death does happen in this story, it does not involve Finn.
> 
> But all of that aside, I just want to say that Finn has always been my favourite character to write and the reason for that all lay with the massive talent of Cory Monteith. He was a wonderful actor and an even more wonderful person and I cannot help but feel that the light in the world is just that bit dimmer without him in it. My heart goes out to his family, his friends, Lea and the cast. My one hope is that wherever he is that there is happiness there for him. Because he deserves it.
> 
>  
> 
> “All men have stars, but they are not the same things for different people. For some, who are travellers, the stars are guides. For others they are no more than little lights in the sky. For others, who are scholars, they are problems... But all these stars are silent. You-You alone will have stars as no one else has them... In one of the stars I shall be living. In one of them I shall be laughing. And so it will be as if all the stars will be laughing when you look at the sky at night. You, only you, will have stars that can laugh! And when your sorrow is comforted (time soothes all sorrows) you will be content that you have known me... You will always be my friend. You will want to laugh with me. And you will sometimes open your window, so, for that pleasure... It will be as if, in place of the stars, I had given you a great number of little bells that knew how to laugh.”
> 
> ― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Princ

**You Belong to Me  
Chapter 5**

  
  
"Blaine," Kurt called in a whisper. He descended the stairs quietly, shooting a look over his shoulder. His dad and Finn were watching a game and Carole was cooking dinner. If his father would just let him put a lock on the door, he wouldn't have to sneak around like this. "Blaine, where are you?"  
  
Kurt's wardrobe quietly snipped open, a shock of curly hair popping out. Blaine blinked up at Kurt as he stepped out, pulling on the hem of one of Finn's old nightshirt's.  
  
"How's Mr. Tumnus? It's been a while since I've seen him." Kurt asked, setting down his bag. Blaine didn't answer, Kurt hadn't expected one anyway. "I brought food."  
  
He sat down and began to ease everything out of the carriers. A mixture of organic and Finn approved snacks. Kurt thought it was best to cover all bases. Although he wasn't happy about the sushi and the Twinkie sharing the same air.  
  
Blaine knelt beside him, keeping a safe distance. He looked from the food to Kurt, to the food.  
  
"Go ahead. Take what you like," Kurt said. Trying to swallow the pity in his throat. "It's for you after all."  
  
Blaine reached out tentatively, fingers closing around the twinkie. He ripped off the wrapper and quickly devoured the treat. After a moment he slowed down his gulps and looked at Kurt beneath dark lashes, a blush settling over his cheeks.  
  
"Hey, it's okay. I eat at the same table as Finn. I'm surprised he still has fingers, to be honest." Kurt gave him a small smile, feeling nervous and a little bit shy. "Have you-- have you had a good day?"  
  
Brilliant question. Stellar.  
  
"I-- I mean-- Did everything go okay? Er, here?"  
  
Blaine nodded slowly and wiped his hand across the back of his mouth. A strange expression was settling over his face. One that made Kurt's nervousness escalate.  
  
"Mine was good. My day I mean." Kurt crossed his legs, settling his hands on his knees and began to chat inanely. His eyes travelled the room and avoided Blaine's stare. He was just in the middle of a rather vivid description of Rachel's latest wardrobe malfunction, when he felt the palm placed against his groin. "Uh--" Kurt's eyes widened and he stared down at Blaine's hand in shock. "What are you doing?"  
  
"I-- I'm servicing you," Blaine whispered his eyes downcast. The heel of his hand dug in rougher and a gasp escaped Kurt's lips at the sensation.  
  
"You don't-- That's not-- Blaine stop!" Kurt grabbed at his hand and the boy cowered, waiting for the blow. "Blaine, I don't-- expect  _that_  from you."  
  
Blaine's brows furrowed in surprise. "Have I done something wrong?" He licked his lips. "I can be better!" He made a dive for Kurt, knocking him backwards in his haste. Kurt grimaced as his head hit the hard floor. "I can be better!" Blaine said again, planting kisses all along Kurt's face and neck. "Please don't send me back. Please!"  
  
For a moment Kurt only lay in shock, his head throbbing as Blaine's hands and mouth roamed over his body. He could feel himself responding as Blaine's groin pressed into his, moaning at the friction. No, he couldn't do that to Blaine! Kurt pushed up at Blaine's shoulders and finally with an effort,  _a great effort_ , Kurt was able to disentangle himself from the boy, scooting across the floor, his hands held out in warning.  
  
"Stop! I don't want that!" Kurt gasped out, his heart breaking at the shattered boy in front of him. "I'm not  _them_ , Blaine. I'm a-- I want to be your  _friend."_  
  
Blaine bit at his lip, hugging the oversized shirt tight. "You're nicer than the others were. I want to stay with you," he said in a small voice.  
  
"You can," Kurt moved closer. "Until we figure something out. But-- but as an  _equal_. I don't own you, Blaine." Kurt could feel the sob building in his chest. "You don't owe me anything. You don't have to do anything to stay here. I just want to help you. That's all!" Kurt closed the distance and hugged him again. Blaine was stiff for a moment and then relaxed into it, holding him tight.  
  
They sat like that for a long time. When Kurt broke away his face was wet. Blaine's was dry, and he looked the most comfortable he had since Kurt had brought him here.  
  
Kurt hesitated, his fingers unclenching as he weighed up his question. Blaine was starting to feel safe, and Kurt didn't want to jeopardise that. Then again, Kurt needed to know. He needed to know if he had placed his family in danger.  
  
"Blaine? What-- What did you do?"  
  
"You mean to end up as-- Well, this?" Blaine looked shocked, as if no one had ever asked him before. Kurt supposed no one ever had. "I-- I don't know. I honestly don't. I have images sometimes. I see a car and a man. The man he-- he looks like me. But I don't know who he is. Sometimes I see a woman and she's linking my arm and laughing. I see lockers and a uniform. I think--" Blaine's voice dropped low. "I think I used to have friends. A family. They're just flashes, though. Just fragments. That's all I remember. I don't know what I did but it must have been terrible. It must have been something awful to end up like this."  
  
"Is Blaine your real name?" Kurt asked, his hand to his chest as he listened to the boy. "Did they let you keep it?"  
  
He shrugged. "I don't know. I don't think so. But, Kurt--" He paused at Kurt's name, as if shocked he was allowed to address him directly. "I honestly don't know! I try so hard to remember, but nothing comes. If I could remember maybe I would know why! I'd know if I deserved to be here or not! But all I remember is the academy." His face twisted. "The training. The masters. The things they made us--" He broke off. " _I can't fucking remember, okay!_ " He blanched and then covered his face, turning away from Kurt.  
  
"I'm not-- Blaine! I'm not going to  _hit_  you!" Kurt patted at his shoulder until he was looking back up at him. "I promise. Equal, remember? Although, you may want to lower your voice. My family are just upstairs."  
  
Blaine glanced up at the ceiling and then back at Kurt's face. "I won't hurt them. I know that I must be some kind of monster but they-- Dalton made that part of me go away. I won't hurt them." He looked at Kurt's hand and then reached out, entwining their fingers gingerly. "I won't hurt you."  
  
"I know." Kurt gave the hand a squeeze. "I know."  
  
"That's the most I've said in-- I don't know. I don't know how long I've been like this." He shook his head with a soft laugh. "I forgot how nice it was. Talking."  
  
Kurt smiled. Blaine couldn't stay here forever. He needed to think of a plan to get him somewhere safe. Somewhere away from Dalton.  
  
He just hoped he thought of something soon.  
  


* * *

  
  
One week. One whole fucking week and still no Blaine.  
  
Dave was desperate now. The longer the boy stayed lost, the more danger his family was in. Dave looked the corridor up and down and was pleased to see the boy was one of the last few remaining at the lockers.  
  
Now or never.  
  
"Hum-- Kurt!" he called out, making his way over. He tried to paste a smile on his face, but judging by the look of horror on Hummel's face it hadn't gone to plan. "What's up?"  
  
"Okay, what's going on?" Hummel slammed the locker shut and placed a hand on his hip. "You've been acting weird all week. You're not going to give me another flower, are you?"  
  
"Didn't you like it?"  
  
"It was covered in thorns, like you didn't know. Why are you even giving me flowers, anyway? I don't  _want_  them. Take your flowers, chocolates and promises you don't intend to keep, back to the west wing, okay?" Hummel flicked an eyebrow up and turned on his heel to leave. Dave's arm shot out and gripped at his elbow.  
  
"Wait!" Dave realised how tight he was holding the smaller boy and released him quickly. "Ear condoms!”  
  
“Ear  _what_?” Hummel snapped. "Is this some new weird intimidation tactic? If it is, it's already boring."  
  
"No. I was listening to that Lady Gaga thing and I was just wondering if you knew what that meant? I mean, you’re a big fan and all. Hey, maybe he, no she? Whatever, I’m not sure what they like to be called, but anyway, maybe It’ll do a concert here and we could, like go?”  
  
“Yes, I’m sure Lima is next on her to do list. What is  _wrong_  with you?”  
  
“I thought you liked shim?”  
  
“Okay, this was fun. Bye, Karofsky.”  
  
“Hold on!” Dave cringed at the whine in his voice. “ Look, I just want to talk to you. I won't take long, I promise."  
  
Hummel sighed deeply, the very image of cool and calm. But his eyes flicked nervously over the empty corridor and then back to Dave. "Well?"  
  
"I was just-- I was just wondering if you wanted-- I mean if you're not busy-- I was hoping I could--"  
  
"Finish a sentence?"  
  
Dave clenched his fists, resisted the urge to give the boy an intense inspection of his locker and gave an airy laugh. "Oh, you!" Hmm. That definitely sounded better on a woman.  
  
Hummel blinked. "What is this about, Karofsky?"  
  
 _Oh, fuck it_. Clean and quick like a band aid.  
  
"Doyouwanttogooutwithme?" Dave spat out.  
  
For a moment Hummel frowned as he slowed down the words in his head, then his eyes widened in shock. "Wh--what?"  
  
"Do you--" Dave pointed at him, possibly a little too sharply as he bounced back. "--want to go with me?" He jabbed a finger at his chest.  
  
"Hilarious." Hummel said after a moment of staring. "Really, that's original. Tell Azimio or whoever they can come out and die laughing now."  
  
"I'm being serious!" Dave snapped. "I want to go out with you! Just say fucking yes, you little--" Argh! Abort, Dave. "I mean, please. I'd love to go out with you. On a date. With food."  
  
Hummel tightened his fingers around his bag strap and looked Dave up and down slowly, making sure Dave saw every damn thought that crossed his face. "No."  
  
"Just like that? No? Why the fu-- Why not?"  
  
"Seriously? I don't know where to start. The dumpster tossing? The slushying? How about that you throw me into my locker on an almost daily--"  
  
"I haven't done that in  _ages_!"  
  
Hummel held up a slender pale finger. "How about the most important one of all? Hmm? You're not gay!"  
  
Dave closed his eyes and tried to recall the words that had more or less been drilled into him. "I might be. I don't know. I just know that I like you. Really, really like you." He kicked at the ground and shoved his hands into his pockets. He sneaked a glance up to see how all this was landing, and was pleased to see that Kurt was starting to look confused rather than angry.  
  
"Where?"  
  
"Where what?"  
  
"Where would this hypothetical date take place?" Hummel grinned bitterly. "I hardly think that you'll be booking us a table at Breadstix."  
  
"No," Dave admitted softly. "I was thinking of this little place on the edge of town." Hummel laughed cynically, but that was okay. This was going according to plan. "I'm not sure what is going on with me, Kurt. I'm not! I'm just so confused and I don't have anyone to turn to. I thought that you could help." Hummel's face was slowly merging into from confusion into pity. Now for the closer. "I'm just really lonely."  
  
Hummel bit at his lip and narrowed his eyes. "What would we even talk about? We have nothing in common." Dave fought back a grin. Yes! He was faltering. "Why am I even considering this?"  
  
"I don't know. Musicals? Sex and the City? Princess Diana?" Hummel's eyebrow shot up. "Er, _America's Next Top Model_?" Dave shrugged. "Whatever you-- _we_  gays talk about. Shit like that."  
  
"Amazing. I only hope I can keep up in what will be clear intellectual battle."  
  
"Screw you, Hum-- Wait! Was that a yes?"  
  
"Yes. I think." Hummel looked almost as surprised as Dave. "But it's  _not_  a date, okay, Karofsky? You need someone to talk to and-- I know how hard this is for you."  
  
Hummel began to drone on, but Dave didn't listen to any of that faggy shit. All he could focus on was that he had just made a date. With a guy. With Kurt Hummel, the poster child for anus love.  
  
But instead of being mortified he felt better than he had since Blaine had hit concrete.  
  
Whatever. It wasn't like he was gay or anything. He was just happy that the plan had come together and that Wes would lay off his family. Those weren't butterflies in his stomach. Fuck that. They were victory hornets of awesome.  
  
"Cool! Cool! Right! I'll pick you up at yours tomorrow night. Same place where I glued all your lawn furniture to the roof?"  
  
Hummel's mouth dropped open. "That was--"  
  
 _Oh, shit!_  
  
"Gotta go!" Dave gave him a hearty slap to the shoulder. "Bye!"


	6. Chapter 6

**You Belong to Me  
Chapter 6**

  
  
Kurt hummed as he smoothed over a newly-straightened bang, clicking the appliance to the beat in his head.  
  
 _Karofsky._  
  
Really? Like Kurt would ever go on a date with him! He was chubby, sweated too much and would probably have a Bruce Willis trim before he hit thirty, for goodness' sake.  
  
It so wasn't a date.  _Not_  a date.  
  
Oh, sweet God! Kurt had a date with a jock! A jock.  _No! Stop it, brain!_  Not a date.  
  
"Why do you keep saying that?" Blaine asked. He had finally got over his fear of Kurt's bed and was sitting on it cross-legged, pouring through Kurt's old issues of Vogue. "What's not a date?"  
  
"Er, Finn. He is going out with Rachel later and it's er-- not a date."  
  
"Rachel? I thought he was dating her, anyway?"  
  
"No, they broke up. He is dating Quinn now."  
  
" _Again_?"  
  
"Yes. Again." Kurt leaned forward and frowned at the darkness under his eyes. Blaine's nightmares were seriously not helping with his beauty sleep. "I swear he must just flip a coin each morning."  
  
"And Puck is dating Lauren, but he has dated Rachel and Quinn. And Porsche?"  
  
" _Mercedes_. Yes, I wouldn't try to sort out our Glee clubs various rendezvous. Just think of it as VC Andrews meets Gossip Girl and you are halfway there."  
  
"Okay, what about you?" There was a teasing note to Blaine's voice that was new. It seemed as each day passed that Blaine became more comfortable in his own skin; that haunted look was slowly leaving his hazel eyes. Not that Kurt was paying attention to those. Or the flecks of gold in them. Or that they were attached to that delectable head. Why, he'd barely even noticed.  
  
"What about me?"  
  
"Well, who have you dated? Rachel? You're blushing. It was Rachel, wasn't it?"  
  
Kurt snapped his straighteners open and shut as he thought how to phrase this. Clearly, Blaine wasn't the most observant of people. "That's an awful thing to say," he settled on, turning back to the mirror. He tried to pretend he couldn't see Blaine smiling at him in the background. "Besides, I have  _other_  inclinations." Kurt had heard that in a film once and thought it had sounded terribly sophisticated.  
  
"Oh." Blaine frowned. "You mean Santana?"  
  
 _Seriously?_  
  
"I'm gay, Blaine." Kurt risked a glance in the reflection. He was relieved to see that Blaine wasn't contorting in disgust. "And no, I haven't dated anyone in the Glee club. Although, I-- I did have a crush on Finn, once." Blaine's eyes went wide. "Oh! Not in an Angelina Jolie kind of way! We weren't, like, brothers, then!" Kurt sighed and turned round. "Does it bother you?"  
  
"Well, Finn doesn't sound the best boyfriend material, but--"  
  
"No! I mean-- about me being gay?"  
  
"No," Blaine shook his head. "Of course not. In fact--" He pressed his lips together. "Nothing. Never mind."  
  
"No, please go ahead."  
  
"It wasn't anything. Honestly." He began to flick through the magazine at an almost blurring pace. "So, who are  _you_  dating?"  
  
"I'm not-- I've never dated anyone," Kurt admitted. "On Valentine's day I get a card from my dad, that he pretends he saw some girl dropping it through the door. This year he panicked and said a 'dude that looked sorta like that one with the hair and the face. You know, the hot one. Not that I think guys are hot, but you'd think he's hot' and so on." He cringed at the memory.   
  
"Your dad sounds nice."  
  
"He really is." Kurt smiled. "Anyway, let's just say that they aren't exactly queuing around the block." With a start, Kurt realised he was complaining about his lack of a sex life with a  _bond-servant_. Next he'd be wandering around child labour camps, and sighing about the horror of still having his own thumbs.   
  
"I don't understand." Blaine looked back up with a blank expression. "You're beautiful."  
  
Kurt gasped as he closed his thumb inside the hot metal in his surprise. "Wh-- I'm sorry?"  
  
"Oh! Are you okay?"  
  
"Yes, I just-- I caught my thumb. What did you say? Beautiful?" Kurt threw the hook and waited for the bite.  
  
Blaine shrugged. "Well, you are." He glanced back down at the magazine. "You should date."  
  
Kurt switched the straighteners off, wincing as the button brushed against his burnt skin. "Yes, well, chance would be a fine thing," Kurt answered smartly, trying not to do jumping jacks over his room.  
  
Beautiful! Not cute! Or adorable or tolerable in dim lighting, but  _beautiful._  
  
Kurt realised he was grinning inanely and shook his head, "I need to go run this under a cold tap." Kurt stood up and began to make his way to his en suite, stopping, he looked back at Blaine. "You know, I could get you some actual books from the lib--" Blaine stared up in horror and clutched the magazines to his chest. "Or, not."  
  
Kurt laughed to himself as he entered his bathroom. Switching on the tap, he hissed as he placed his fingers under it and tried not to get too giddy over Blaine's words. He was just being nice, that's all. Especially since he couldn't show his appreciation in his  _usual_  way. The last thing he needed was Kurt leching over him, he'd been through enough.   
  
Kurt sneaked a glance at his watch, as a bubble of nerves erupted in his belly. Ten more minutes until Karofsky arrived to pick him up. He barely recognised his life anymore. Having a ridiculously attractive boy in his basement was taxing enough, he felt like a fashionable Fritzl, but he wasn't sure if he could handle a potato-headed jock chasing him, too. If he  _was_  chasing him, that was.  
  
He looked over his outfit critically. Maybe he should change? This was a little too nice to ruin with-- what? What exactly did he think was going to happen? Did he think Karofsky was going to hurt him? Humiliate him?

No.  _He didn't_ , he realised with a start. Because Karofsky  _had_  meant it, he was lonely. Kurt was sure the moment he had seen the emotion in Karofsky's eyes; it was a look Kurt recognised well. Dave was confused. No one had been there for Kurt when he had gone through it, he just had to figure it out for himself. He had had no one to moon over apart from Finn, and the more he thought about that the more he wondered  _why_  he had been so adamant about making Finn love him in the first place.  
  
Was it purely because he was the most popular boy in school and Kurt thought that if he was gay, well, then things would be better? Was this any different? Of course it was, for one he didn't have the remotest interest in Karo--Dave. It wasn't like he had really nice shaped eyebrows, or had a really adorable sad face that made Kurt forget about just how much like a shaved polar bear he could be most days.  
  
Nope, not the slightest bit interested. And as stated, not a date. Anyway, he might as well stop worrying about having the right outfit, because he was pretty certain they'd be heading to Burger King.  
  
"Kurt! Kurt!” A voice sounded out, accompanied by large, thumping footsteps down his stairs. “You need to see this mole!"   
  
 _Finn!_  
  
Kurt dashed from the bathroom, colliding with Finn's hulk as he left the room. "Ow!"  
  
"Look! Look! It's huge, it looks like a tree!" Finn carried on, shirt pulled up and not seeming to notice that Kurt was sprawled on the floor glaring at him.  
  
Kurt stood up and dusted down his trousers, trying to casually check to see where Blaine had hidden. "I know you tower over them, Finn, but you should know what a tree looks like. It's not that."  
  
"Do you think it's dangerous?" Finn stared down at his bare belly in horror. "What if it's fatal?"  
  
Kurt frowned and jabbed his finger in Finn's side. "Depends. Do moles that smudge usually mean instantaneous death?"  
  
"What?" Finn rubbed at it with his own finger, raised it to his nose and sniffed. With a shrug he moved it to his lips.  
  
"Ew! Don't do--"  
  
"Oh! Chocolate! It must be from when Quinn came over. We, well, we--"  
  
"No!" Kurt held up his hands. "You've already ruined kiwi fruit for me, for the love of God, don't explain! Wait, wasn't Quinn here on  _Tuesday?_ "  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Oh, my-- Why haven't you  _showered_?" Kurt covered his eyes with his hands. "Don't answer that, either. What have I told you about knocking!?"  
  
"What have I told you about putting a sock on the door?" Finn wriggled his eyebrows as he finished off the last of the chocolate smear. Not for the first time, Kurt questioned his taste in men. "Why are you dressed all fancy? Fancier, I mean?"  
  
Kurt blushed. "I'm going out with Porsche, I mean-- Mercedes. We are going to the-- The cinema!"  
  
"Oh? What to see?"  
  
"Erm, the new-- The new Natalie Portman movie." There had to be one. She was in  _everything._  
  
"Sweet, I might tag along if you don't mind?"  
  
"What?! I mean-- Sure! You'll love it. David E Kelley wrote the screenplay. And she has a terminal illness in it, and there's a last minute dash to the airport, and a precocious kid. With a lisp." Kurt searched his mind frantically. "And Jack Black!"  
  
"Changed my mind!" Finn held up his hand. "You go. Have a nice time. I'll do homework or something." He turned to go and then paused at the bottom of the stairs. "Kurt, are you okay? I mean with Mom and me being here and all?"  
  
"Sure," Kurt said. "Why wouldn't I be?"  
  
"Well, you spend all your time in your room. You even take your dinner in here." Finn looked down. "Have I pissed you off? Was it the Sam thing?"  
  
Kurt heard a floorboard creak near his bed and practically yelled to cover it up. "No! Honestly, it's just-- I'm working on a project for, hmm, Glee. A big project for Glee. I just want it to be perfect."  
  
"Oh! Do you want any help with it? I could maybe sing with you?"  
  
"I said I want it  _perfect_ , Finn. But thank you for the offer." Kurt smiled tightly, a tiny bead of sweat escaping at his temple. "So--- I'll see you later?"  
  
Finn stared at him for a moment, his eyes searching his face. Then he gave a nod. "Okay, dude. Enjoy your cancerous Jack Black thing."  
  
Once he was gone, Blaine wriggled out from beneath the bed. A stark white covered his face and he was shaking slightly.  
  
"That was close," Kurt said, crossing the room to help him up. "This-- This is insane. We need to figure something out. You can't live under my bed forever, Blaine."  
  
The moment he said it, he wanted the words back. Blaine seemed to transition and it was one week ago again. He shrunk and covered his knees with his arms and settled his head on his knees.  
  
"No, no. I don't mean you have to leave!" Kurt dropped down beside him, his hand on his shoulder. "I just mean-- We need to think of something. Something concrete. They won't just have forgotten about you, Blaine. We need to get you--" Kurt threw up his hands in frustration. "I don't know! Away. Anything."  
  
Blaine rubbed at his eyes. "I know. This isn't fair on you. You shouldn't have to be dealing with this! I'm so sorry, Kurt."  
  
Kurt smiled sadly. Blaine apologising to  _him_. How was that okay?  
  
"Listen, I have to go out for a few hours. I won't be too late back. When I'm home we'll get working on a plan, a  _real_  plan."  
  
Blaine nodded just as a horn beeped from outside. Karofsky. Kurt's heart quickened in pace and Blaine started beneath his touch as Kurt absently dug in his nails.  
  
"Oh, sorry!" Kurt jumped up and smoothed down his clothes. He should have changed! This was all too tight, Karofsky was so going to get the wrong idea. And Kurt didn't want him to get the wrong idea.  
  
 _Did he?_  
  
"Have fun with Volvo," Blaine smiled up at him, his eyes looking dryer.  
  
"It's Merce--" Kurt stopped. Was that a joke? Blaine's grin grew wider and Kurt found him smiling back just as big. "Shut up! Okay, okay. I won't be long. Trust me. This is going to be  _anything_  but fun."


	7. Chapter 7

"I like your hair," Dave said after what felt like the fifteenth silence of the evening. "You look like that person off the TV."

Kurt smiled and touched at his product filled bangs. "Really?"

"Yeah,  _Nurse Jackie_."

Kurt's grin disappeared and was replaced by the back of the menu. "Needn't worry about dessert," he muttered.

Christ, you try to give a guy a compliment. Dave picked up his own menu, pretending to read the words. He already knew what he was having. Fries. It was the one thing that wouldn't have been exposed to the kitchen long enough to develop ecoli.

Dave glanced round the, well,  _dive_  and sniffed. No way he'd ever take a real date here. Whose idea had this place been?

Oh. Yeah.

"Did you have- A nice time at school today?"

The menu dropped down and Kurt's face re-appeared, his eyebrow arched. "Really?"

"Look, I'm trying okay? That's more than you are."

"I'm not trying? I haven't mentioned a word about the fact I'm in a- a hunting lodge." Kurt gestured around himself in a quiet hiss. "Or that you started the conversation by asking top or bottom-"

"I told you! I meant where did you want to sit!"

"- I could be complaining about the fact you crushed my swan-"

"Everyone hates napkin origami!"

"-but I'm not. I'm merely sitting here waiting for you to talk." Kurt sat back and crossed his arms over his red silk shirt. Dave briefly wondered what that felt like against skin and then banished the thought when it led to what it felt like against Kurt's skin. "So? Talk."

Dave rubbed at his jaw and tried to stare holes through the table cloth. Talk? Talk about what? Talk about the pain his family were going through because of him? About Blaine? About this weird thing that was happening right now?

Why not? He had to talk about something, didn't he?

"I'm a fuck up," someone said. It took a minute for him to realise it was him. "I'm such a fuck up. I messed up at home and my dad, he- I can't stand the way he is looking at me." He tried to shove the words back in, but they were rushing out in a flood. "He never used to look at me like that. Now it's the only look he has. Like he had this idea what I was supposed to be and I'm not it. I'm so not it." Dave pressed his thumbnail into the fork, rubbing along the steel. "And now it's worse than ever. See, I made this mistake. It was a really big one, fucking huge. Because of, you know, my problem."

"Your homosexuality?" Kurt nodded, his lips thin and brutal. "What was the mistake?"

Dave looked up surprised.  _Think. Think!_   "I, er, lost- my pet! I lost my dog."

"Karofsky, I'm so- Wait, what? You lost your dog because you're  _gay?_ "

"He went out the window."

Kurt's ridiculous anime eyes were saucers. "And  _lived?_ "

"It's not that high," Dave grumbled. "I was supposed to be watching him but-"

"How is your being gay the cause of your dog taking off. Did you buy him off Fred Phelps?"

"Who? No. It was because I was distracted by-" Dave really needed to start thinking before talking. Seriously. "I was watching _True Blood_."

"That's-" Kurt tilted his head. "-pretty gay, but not worth beating yourself up over. How long has this been?"

"About a week. I- I was kind of attached to him, you know. He was- He was nice."

"Dave." A shiver ran over his spine at hearing his first name from him of all people. "It's okay to say how you feel you know. You loved him."

"No, I didn't!" Kurt blinked in surprise. "Er- I mean. I'd only just got him, but I was fond of him, I guess."

Kurt placed his chin on his open palm. "What was his name?"

"Bl- Bingo."

"Do you have any pictures?"  _None that you want to see_. "Maybe we could put up posters?"  _Jesus. Think of the car crashes with those on a lamp-post._

"No, no I don't. Thank you, though." Dave was shocked to realise that he actually meant it. "It's nice of you, to offer though. My dad and I are looking every day." Dave began to fiddle with the tablecloth, still stained with the spaghetti of the customer before them. "I just hate disappointing him."

"Does he know for sure?" Kurt asked softy. "That you're gay?"

Dave looked up and stared into the other boy's face. "Yes. He knows."

"Has he actually told you what he feels?"

"I-" Dave shrugged. "I don't know. He says he just wants me to be happy and-" his voice lowered. "And that it's just a phase. I'll get over it."

"Oh, Dave." Kurt's hand found his across the table, slender fingers closing over the knuckles. Why had he told him that?  _What the fuck, Dave._  "I'm so sorry."

"Hello, Ladies," a waiter appeared at their table. "Sorry to interrupt the love fest, but can I take your order?"

Dave pulled his hand back like it burned and buried it in his lap. Kurt sighed heavily at the waiter, eyebrow arched and lips pursed. He didn't look upset. He looked resigned.

"A Coke, no ice," muttered Dave.

"A fruit cocktail," said Kurt, "but please can I just get a little touch of pineapple? Too much brings me out in hives, you see, and-"

"A  _fruit_  cocktail," said the waiter, writing it in his notebook, "a nice, manly drink."

"I'm very glad that this establishment comes with commentary," said Kurt, picking lint from his top and flicking it away as he looked back up at the waiter. "Can we order our food now, please?"

"I assume you two will want the sausages?" The waiter sniggered and looked behind him at some patrons who were watching.

"No, thank you. I was wondering if someone could tell us the specials." Kurt smiled brightly. "Do you have anyone here who can read?"

It was said just loud enough for the next table over to break off into sniggers. The waiter's smirk slipped off his face. "You being smart, sweetheart?"

"One of us has to be."

"Shut your mouth, you little fa-"

Dave was on his feet and towering over the creep before he knew it. "Are you chewing a brick or talking shit to my date?"

"Wha-what? Brick?" The waiter stared up, a shake settling over him as he registered the height difference.

"Because either way, you're going to lose your teeth." Dave pushed a shoulder forward and the boy nearly burst into tears. "Now get the fuck out of my eye line." He turned to Kurt. "Come on, Truffle. We're leaving."

"Brick?  _Truffle_ ," Kurt muttered getting to his feet and pulling his coat on.

"Come on." Dave reached over and grabbed his hand, almost dragging him across the floor to the exit. "Saw a rat," he snapped at one table staring at him with wide eyes.

"Dave," Kurt said, rather breathlessly behind him. "Smaller strides would be appreciated right now."

"Oh." Dave turned towards him, seeing their joined hands. How had that happened? He shrugged and carried on towards the door, trying not to wonder at the goose bumps spreading over his skin. "You okay?" he asked gruffly when they were outside.

Kurt pulled his hand free. "I'm just glad you didn't overreact!"

"What? I'm not eating in there with a bunch of fucking-" Dave broke off and rubbed at the back of his neck. "I'm just not okay?"

"Couldn't we have made a snappy retort and then left? Instead of throwing me over your shoulder? I felt like Fay Wray!"

"I was standing up for you!"

"I can stand up for myself! Hell, I've had to do it for long enough." Kurt placed his hands on his hips. "To you, mainly!"

"Oh," Dave replied. Great, he'd messed up. Again. He didn't even know what the fuck had come over him. He just knew when he had seen that asshole looking at Kurt down his nose like that, something had snapped. "I just didn't like him homophobing you, is all."

"Oh? Because that's  _your_  job?" Kurt pushed past him. "Why the hell did I even say yes to this."

Dave shoved his hands in his pockets and followed him. He couldn't do  _anything_  right. He couldn't even keep his temper for one damn evening and now everything was messed up. They'd lose the house, all the savings. Worse. Dave knew his dad was keeping something back. Exactly how much had he put at stake for Dave? He was just so damn-

"Sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry about everything." Kurt turned round in surprise. "What I did to you, Kurt. I wish I could take it back." Shit, was he crying? He was really losing it. "I wish I could take everything back."

Kurt held out his hand towards Dave's shoulder. It faltered in the air and then fell to his side. "Dave-"

Dave sniffed and covered his face. This was terrible horrible. This was the worst moment since he got pantsed in the sixth grade. Worse than when he had pantsed Hudson and got an instant boner. Worse than  _The Cleveland Show._

"I'll take you home," he choked out. "Don't worry about it."

"No! It's early. We could go to- We could go to Burger King."

"What?" Dave looked up, surprised. "You want to- still do this?"

"Well, it's the strangest date I've ever been on." Kurt said in a sheepish voice, but there was a tiny quirk to his lips that Dave could get used to seeing. On a girl he'd have fucking loved it. "But due to lack of popular demand, it's also the best."

"Okay. Okay! But no Burger King. That shit tastes like it's already been eaten once." Dave said, heading towards his car. It took him a moment to realise that he was holding Kurt's hand.  _Again_? What was with him tonight?

He looked back at Kurt. He  _did_  look nice, in the moonlight in all those tight clothes and that shy little smile. He should say something.

"I meant what I said, you know," Dave said softly as he opened the door for him.

"About being sorry?" Kurt asked climbing into the truck and up onto the seat.

"No, well, yes. Yeah. But about you looking like Nurse Jackie." Dave smiled tenderly. "She's  _very_  handsome."

He moved his fingers just in time as Kurt slammed the car door shut.

 

* * *

 

Blaine listened to the quiet of the house, disturbed only by the floorboards above him creaking. Finn? He had heard Kurt's father and fiancée leave earlier, arguing over whose turn it was to drive and whether Bon Jovi or Bruce Springsteen would be serenading them on their way. The Boss won. The Boss always wins.

A feeling. Like rushing, like nerves and excitement stroked the pit of his stomach.

Hands. A wrench.

 _Sometimes it's like someone took a knife_  
baby edgy and dull  
and cut a six inch valley  
through the middle of my soul.

_"You know who that is, Michael? That's Springsteen."_

A clatter. A smell. Oil?

_"That's a real working class hero, none of this hippy, faggy John Lennon crap."_

A twist. A hand on his shoulder. A grunt.

 _At night I wake up with the sheets_  
soaking wet and  
a freight train running  
through the middle of my head -  
only you can cool my desire

_"What do you think, son? She'll get us to where we are going?"_

And then silence.

Blaine blinked. That one had been longer than the last time. They all seemed to be getting longer. Probably because before he- he hadn't liked to think too much. He had just gone away in his mind, waiting for an order or a blow. But now he had all this time.

Because of Kurt.

Blaine felt his face curving into a smile and touched it gingerly with his finger tips as if it dart away if startled. Kurt had saved him. Kurt.

Blaine liked thinking about Kurt. Liked thinking about his soft smile and his two tone eyes. He liked the way Kurt laughed, his kindness. He liked that in Kurt's gaze that it was never just pity, but that an anger mingled down deep. It made Blaine think maybe he wasn't damned after all. That maybe this wasn't something he deserved.

It felt odd to think thoughts like that, to allow himself even that small rebellion, but he didn't stop. Because when he did stop his mind would look for further things to occupy itself with. Dalton. The others. The boy that he had ran away from. Blaine had enough of those thoughts in his sleep, he didn't need them now.

His fingers smoothed over his the wrist and the branding. Another memory seemed to ignite in him, someone else's fingers touching at him lightly and looking over his shoulder, a frown on his face. Blaine didn't fear the chip in his wrist, not like he knew he should. It was a tracer, it could lead Dalton right to him. To Kurt. And yet, if they could do that why hadn't they already?

Headlights shone into the small sliver of a rectangle window. This must be Kurt and Mercedes back from their night out. Blaine clenched his hands into fists and bit his lip. This was no good. This feeling of excitement whenever Kurt was close, he was becoming dependent on him and that was dangerous. Because as wonderful as Kurt was, he wasn't forever, couldn't be forever. Not if Blaine wanted to keep him safe.

He sighed and stood up from the bed, making his way over to the window. Car doors slammed, and gravel shifted as feet made their way to the door. A murmur started up as they talked, Kurt's obvious voice floated down whereas the other was deeper, rougher and most definitely  _not_  a woman.

Kurt had- lied? No, no. It couldn't be that. Why would he lie? Kurt was allowed to go out with male friends. Blaine of all people had no say in what Kurt, or anyone did, after all, he was just a bond servant but still- He didn't like the feeling in his chest. It felt bitter and hot and cold all at once.

He should look. Make sure everything was okay, after all, Kurt  _had_  said he was going out with Mercedes and maybe something had gone wrong. Blaine looked around and made his way over to Kurt's desk, digging his fingers under the rim and moving it towards the window.

_Just a quick look._

He grimaced as the wood tore across the ground, giving out a loud shriek. Pausing he listened for the sound of a curious Finn. When nothing came he continued to pull the desk towards the wall, settling it down and climbing up neatly. He had to go up on tip toes, but he could just make out a set of two legs and a mass shadow curling out towards him.

A curious feeling overcame him as he gazed upon a pair of dirty Nike trainers. Trainers that were far too close to Kurt's leather pixie boots.

_I've seen them before._

Blaine shook his head, trying to focus his thoughts. Why was his mind so full of holes! Was this one of those creaky strips of reels that often ran in his mind or a  _real_  memory?

Kurt's voice rose slightly in pitch and the other answered angrily. Blaine couldn't make out the words but he knew that he didn't like it.

He clutched at the window frame, pushing himself up even further as a roar began to fill his head. Something was wrong. _Something was wrong!_

So loud was the noise in his mind he never heard the click of the door, or the footsteps padding down the stairs.

He heard the creak, though, and the violent intake of breath. Twisting Blaine turned and stared down, his eyes taking in the stark red, material staring up at him.

Oh, the jacket. He remembered  _that_ , all right.

Blaine began to scream.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, there! Thank you all so much for reading. Just a quick note, I was unable to specify the nature of the pairings in the tags so just wanted to advise that this is primarily a Kurt/Blaine fic that features relationships with Blaine/Dave and Kurt/Dave throughout various stages of the story. I have now added this as a note to the first chapter and apologise for not doing so earlier. Please make note of that before continuing. 
> 
> (I mean, AO3 is pretty chill but there's another unnamed website that has reactions so violent to this type thing that it makes the climax of Sharknado look like The Piano so...)
> 
> Thank you!

Kurt walked towards his front door, ahead of Karo-- Aha,  _Dave_ , with a tiny smile on his lips.  
  
That had been weird. But Tim Burton weird rather than Wes Anderson weird.  
  
He'd quite liked it. Possibly. Maybe. No?  
  
"So, this was like nice and shit," Dave said shuffling his feet. "Yeah, it was alright."  
  
"You know how to make a boy feel special," Kurt answered. "Please stop. You're knocking me off my feet." He leaned against the door and tried to ignore the heat spreading across his shoulders and up his neck.  
  
"Well, you said this wasn't a date." Dave shrugged.  
  
"Oh." Kurt nodded. That was true, but something had changed, at least he thought it had. Clearly he was wrong.  
  
"Although, I'd-- I'd--" Dave licked his lips. "I'd prefer to think that it was."  
  
Or not.  
  
Kurt tried not to look pleased, raising his arm and holding it by the elbow as he stared Dave down. "Okay sure. It was a date."  
  
Dave's face broke out into a big grin that took Kurt by surprise. "Really?"  
  
"Yes." Kurt nodded. "Really."  
  
Okay, Dave wasn't exactly what Kurt had imagined as the man he'd be spending his first date with. Kurt had thought that  _that_ man would be out and proud, or Matt Damon. But Dave wasn't all bad, maybe beneath all that anger and posturing he was just a scared little boy looking for someone to love.  
  
 _A bit like Blaine_. A flash of guilt snapped into play and Kurt pushed it away. It wasn't fair to compare Blaine to Dave. What Blaine had gone through was beyond all comprehension. Blaine's biggest problem should be whether the girl he liked, liked him back. Or a Math test, not whether his new owner would use the belt on him or something even more painful.  
  
"--it again?" Had Dave been talking? Damnit.   
  
"Hmm," Kurt inspected his nails. "Maybe."  
  
"I knew you didn't like it! It was way better than that first dive. All sophisticated and that."  
  
Oh! The  _restaurant_. "Dave, it was even further out of town and the walls had bicycles and registration plates on them."  
  
"So? That's classy. You just don't know class when you see it."  
  
"I'm sorry? I'm supposed to respect the opinion of a man who thinks  _Hard Candy_  is, and I believe this is verbatim, better than that fruity  _True Blue_  shit."  
  
"What? She's awesome now. She sucked in the eighties. Also, I would totally drill her in that leotard." Dave blushed. "I mean, you know, if I liked that kind of thing"  
  
"Oh, please. It's no wonder I'm gay if women contort themselves like a croissant in bed. But those pyramid bras? Fabulous."  
  
"See, that's just it! Why do you guys always have to be into weird clothes and crap? What's wrong with the Gap?" Dave paused. "The shop. That wasn't a Madonna dig."  
  
"Us guys?" Dave waved it a way and Kurt decided to let it slide. For now. "A gap between the teeth means you're lucky," Kurt sniffed, "though even luck couldn't save  _American Life._ "  
  
Dave looked like he was going to explode. "Are you stupid! That was brilliant! Okay, okay. You at least agree  _American Pie_ was better than the original?"  
  
"The original captured the American zeitgeist! I bet you think a zeitgeist is something that drags little girls into the TV set!" Kurt snapped. "I don't even want to know what she was doing with Timbaland. This woman is an icon, leader, a musical JFK. So why is she doing what everyone else was doing two years before?"  
  
" _Four Minutes_  is a classic! I'll fuck you up the next time you diss that! And don't you preach to me about _True Blue_ again-- it is shit! I don't want to know about some faggy fucking island."  
  
Kurt blinked. "Did-- Did you just threaten to beat me up over  _Madonna_?"  
  
Dave's eyes widened and he took a step towards Kurt, hovered and then took a step back. "I didn't mean it like that. I'm sorry, I didn't mean--"  
  
"No, it's-- It's super gay actually. And yet  _so_  you." Kurt shook his head and realised Dave was moving closer, his eyes trained to Kurt’s lips. "I mean, I understand. Madonna is-- you know and I guess--" Words! Where have you gone? Kurt's voice was getting higher and faster as Dave drew nearer. "My favourite is-- is-- _Hanky Panky!"_  
  
Dave raised an eyebrow. "What?"  
  
Where the hell had that came from? He didn't even  _like_  that song. He suspected no one did. "From  _I'm Breathless._  I-- I love it."  
  
"You love  _Hanky Panky_?" Flirting! That was flirting. Who knew Dave Karofsky could flirt? Kurt had always assumed he just pulled out a switch blade and demanded that people giggle coquettishly. "Hmm, me too."  
  
Dave was so close now that Kurt could see the tiny flecks of green in his eyes. He swallowed as Dave's stare dropped to his lips and up again. He wasn't, was he? There was no way that Dave was going to--  
  
 _Oh!_  
  
Dave was kissing him, his hand slipping to the back of his neck and other to Kurt's jaw holding a motionless Kurt in place. Kissed! Kurt Hummel was being kissed. By a boy!   
  
It was like a kiss from classic Hollywood. Not cinematic, romantic and timeless, but in that neither of them was actually moving their mouths and were just sort of pressed together by their faces.   
  
 _What do I do with my hands?_  
  
Kurt delicately placed them on Dave's shoulder's and tried not to tap his fingers. He guessed this was sweet, not exactly what he had figured in his imagination. There'd been a lot more fireworks, romance and, well-- wriggling in that version. And the one kissing him had never been Dave. Ever. He'd imagined someone more classically handsome, sweeter, gentle. Someone like, well, Blaine.  
  
Kurt's eyes shot open at the thought. No, not Blaine. Why wouldn't he get out of his head? Wasn't it bad enough what Blaine had been through without Kurt crushing on him? Blaine was with him for protection and no other reason, hell, Blaine wasn't even gay so even if circumstances were--  
  
 **TONGUE.**  
  
There was a tongue in his mouth and this one wasn't  _his_. If Kurt hadn't known to do with his hands he had a clue what his _tongue_  was supposed to do back.  _If I had wanted to taste the margarita pizza, I would have bought it, thank you very much!_  Kurt thought and then felt immediately guilty and mean. Wasn't this what he had always wanted? A handsome, popular jock wanting to lip lock with him? On a school night, no less?  
  
He just needed to put a little more  _oomph_  into it, that's all. Sliding his arms around Dave's shoulders, he pressed himself up and tried to follow Dave's actions exactly . Moving his own tongue against Dave’s, and copying Dave’s little whimpers. It was getting better, gradually at least. As the kiss continued, Kurt began to feel more confident, bolder and—curiously empty. Okay, seriously? This was it? This was what nearly every love song was about? Where was the romance? The spark? The screams? The--  
  
Wait? Screams?  
  
Kurt pushed at Dave's chest in shock. "What was that?" he gasped breathlessly. The sound came again, this time joined by another voice. One that sounded like Finn’s. "I mean-- I have to go in now!"  
  
Dave stared down at him, dazed, his lips still comically puckered. Giving a little shake of head he threw the expression away. "What's that sound?"  
  
"Er-- Primal scream therapy. Yes." Kurt turned back around and shoved his key in the lock, reassuring Dave over his shoulder. "Finn, is like, super into it. So, I best get in before he disturbs the neighbours."  
  
"Wait! Do-- Do you want to do this again? Like, maybe tomorrow? My dad is out. Maybe you could come round and we--"  
  
"Yes! Yes, whatever you like. I really, really have to go, Dave."  
  
"Okay!" Dave's grin tickled his ears. "Well, I'll see you th--"  
  
Kurt slammed the door shut in his face, and raced to the basement.  
  


* * *

  
  
Finn Hudson was brave. Finn Hudson could take on anyone and anything. Finn Hudson, like Ray Parker Jr, wasn't scared of no ghost.  
  
At least, that's what he told himself as he reluctantly crept down to Kurt's basement room with a cross in his hand and a spatula in the other.  
  
For an entire week now, he had been hearing weird noises from down there. And not just when Kurt was watching _Supernatural_  and probably giving little Kurt a high five. No, this was happening when Kurt wasn't even there. Which left only one logical conclusion.  
  
 _A haunting._  
  
Finn took a deep breath as he neared the foot of the stairs. Was it  _The superpower of Christ consumes you?_  That sounded pretty straight to business. He'd say that while waving the cross. Neat. He wondered if it might shoot sparks or something whacked. He hoped ghost lightning wouldn’t destroy the cross, though. He'd have preferred that one with the little dude on, but this was the only one he could find in his mother's jewellery box.  
  
"The power of Christ consults you, I-I mean consumes you!" he whispered over and over as he stood on the bottom step.  _Oh, God. Oh, God._  
  
He opened his eyes.  
  
And gasped.   
  
Standing on top of Kurt's table was a tiny creature utterly swathed in Finn's wardrobe and he was staring back at Finn in a look of a pure horror.   
  
Shit! A leprechaun! If it got near him, it would totally chomp his balls off. Finn thrust the cross forward as the thing began to scream the house down. Startled, Finn joined in as he waved the spatula above his head in a smooth war move. "The power of Christ compliments you!"  _Shit!_  "The power of Christ complies…! Where’s the goddamn lightning? God, I didn’t mean to say goddamn! Uh, the power of Christ says shut the hell up, seriously!"  
  
"Finn! What on Earth!" Kurt yelled, running down the stairs.  
  
"Kurt! Stay back!" Finn held up his arm and stopped Kurt as he made to move past him. "I caught a leprechaun!”  
  
Kurt shoved his arm out of the way and ran towards the desk. "Blaine! Blaine, it's me. I'm here."  
  
The boy was now curled up into a ball, his arms wrapped around his legs, rocking back and forth. His eyes stared dully at Finn's chest. "He found me. He found me."  
  
"Kurt! Get back here!" Finn hissed. "He's a fruit loop!"   
  
Kurt glared back at him and slipped his arm around the shaking boy's shoulders. "Blaine, it's okay. It's me. This is my brother, Finn."  
  
Blaine blinked slowly as if coming too and then looked from Kurt to Finn. "Your brother?" He asked in a shaky voice. "Oh, oh!"   
  
"Is that my hoodie? I've been looking for that everywhere! He better not have--" Finn turned towards Kurt. "Who the hell is he?"  
  
"This is Blaine. My-- my boyfriend!" Kurt squeaked. "Blaine this Finn."  
  
Blaine stared back with wide, terrified eyes, and shaking, gaping mouth.  
  
"Er, did you give him a choice?"  
  
"Yes! Of course!" Kurt was looking everywhere around the room except at Finn. "Are you suggesting this is Flowers in the Basement?"  
  
"No. At least, I don't think so. Did Ke$ha sing that?" Finn took a step closer. "It's just--" Finn jerked with his head indicating for Kurt to come closer. "Is he a mentalist?" He asked in a hissed whisper. "Come on, did you abduct him from somewhere?"  
  
Kurt glowered. "Are you suggesting the only way I could get a boyfriend is by kidnapping those with special needs?"  
  
Finn thought about it, then nodded. "Yeah, I'm saying that!"  
  
"I don’t even--”  
  
"But did you?"  
  
"Finn!" Kurt swatted him in the arm. "His dad kicked him out when he found out about us. He has been living down here for the past week. Just until we figure something out."  
  
Finn smiled slowly. "You filthy little ho. Or bro. I can't believe you!"   
  
"You can't tell anyone, Finn. Not even Quinn. Or Rachel. Whoever's turn it is. Don't tell them, okay?"  
  
"Hmm," Finn patted his lips. "What's it worth to you?"  
  
Kurt crossed his arms with a glare. "Are you blackma-- Fine. I'll do the dishes for the next week."  
  
"Dishes, my laundry, and let me borrow your car. For a month."   
  
"A month!"  
  
"Two months. And I want that new blue sweater you wore yesterday. With all the bobbles and glitter." Finn twirled his finger. "Made you look like that painting by that guy who cut off his ears. That one."  
  
"That's a McQueen!" Kurt squeaked. "Do you know how long it took to save up for that?   
  
"Er, about two weeks? Your allowance is _insane_."  
  
"It won't even fit you, Andre!"  
  
"It's not for me. It's for Quinn. She loved it." Finn frowned. "Oh, sorry. I thought you wanted to keep Boyfriend in Your Pocket all secret and sexy? I don't know. I’ve got to be reprehensible and stuff.” He struck a gallant pose. “As your big brother, I should really share this with Burt and mom. Maybe I should--"  
  
"The jacket," Blaine interrupted. "The jacket."  
  
"What? No way! You’re already wearing my hoodie,  _I Am Sam_. You're not getting this." Finn looked at Kurt. "Seriously, what's the matter with him?"   
  
But Kurt's gaze was all for Blaine. "What about the jacket?"  
  
"He had one just like it. The other one."  
  
"What other one?" Finn was getting confused now. And irritated. "You mean a Titan."  
  
Kurt gave a little gasp, and held a hand up to him. "Finn, could you give us a minute?"  
  
"He's-- he's not your boyfriend, is he? You‘ve kidnapped him!"  
  
"Finn, please." Kurt crossed the room and knelt down in front of Blaine. "Just go."  
  
Finn looked at the way the boy was shivering under Kurt's comforting palm, the whiteness of his face and the eyes that darted around the room every passing second.  
  
"Wait, all that stuff you've been going on about -- the law and slavery and stuff!"  
  
"Finn!" Kurt's head snapped round. "Don't. Please."  
  
"The exact same jacket," Blaine muttered. "I remember-- I think--"  
  
"Remember what, Blaine? Who had the jacket?" Kurt pressed. "The person who owned you?"  
  
"Owned! I  _knew_  it! He's a bond-servant, isn't he? Oh, my God! Where did you get him? Why couldn’t you have just kidnapped a special needs kid instead? Do you realise how much trouble--"  
  
"Finn, shut up!" Kurt snapped, his eyes ablaze. "Just shut up for a second, will you?!"  
  
Finn's jaw snapped closed and he swallowed down the rest of his sentence.   
  
"Blaine, the one who owned you? Did he-- Did he wear a jacket like Finn's?"  
  
"I told you I didn't want to talk about him. You said I didn't have to talk about him if I didn't want to."  
  
"But, Blaine. This is important. This," Kurt's face grimaced, " _monster_  could be someone at our school. It could be someone we know. What was his name?"  
  
"I don't want to talk about it." There was steel in the boy's voice for the first time. Then he released a weary sigh. "At least not yet. Please. I just-- I just want to pretend for a little longer."  
  
Kurt pressed his lips together in a severe thin line. "Okay. It's okay." He rubbed at Blaine's shoulder, and Finn felt a trickle of unease at the emotion in his eyes.  
  
"Can I speak yet?"  
  
"Put your hand down, Finn. And yes. If you must."  
  
"I'm right, aren't I? He's a bond-servant?"  
  
"Yes," Kurt sighed. "He is."  
  
"Kurt! You can't hide a bond-servant down here like, like freakin ET!" Finn grabbed at his hair, in a tight clench. "Oh, my God. I'm Drew Barrymore. I'm Drew Barrymore!"  
  
"Please, Finn," Kurt said. "If anybody is Drew Barrymore it's clearly me."  
  
"Who is Drew Barrymore?" Blaine asked in a small voice.  
  
"Dude, really?" Finn asked momentarily distracted. "Come on! She did that shower scene in  _Scream! Music and Lyrics?"_  
  
"Oh!" Kurt clapped his hands. " _Ever After_!"  
  
" _Never Been Kissed? The Wedding Singer_?"  
  
"I think I maybe remember her--" Blaine frowned. "I'm getting something about Chihuahua--"  
  
"Yuck." Finn grimaced. "Okay. Never mind." He turned to Kurt. "Dude, He can't stay here. We have to tell someone."  
  
"Finn," Kurt said. "You feel the same about bond-servants as me."  
  
"That doesn't mean I want one living in my house!"  
  
"Oh!" Kurt was on his feet. "So it's okay to champion their rights as long as they are nowhere near you? I should have known you were all tal--"  
  
"Hey! That's totally unfair! You can't just spring this on me and expect me to be cool! He could kill us all in all sleep, Kurt! You put us all into danger with this stunt!"  
  
"He's been here a week! And we are all still breathing. Look at him!" Kurt gestured with a violent thrust. "Does he look like Charles Manson to you?"  
  
Finn did look. And wished he hadn't. Blaine was still curled up around himself, with those big sad eyes looking like an ASPCA advert. Finn found the sudden urge to set up a trust fund for him.  
  
"Kurt, I-- this doesn't seem-- I don't-- A bond-servant!"  
  
"He is a human being. And no matter what he has done, he didn't deserve what happened to him." Kurt stepped forward, his eyes beseeching. "He doesn't deserve what will continue to happen to him if you tell."   
  
"But-- and I-- If Burt--" Finn clutched his hands into fists and stared between the two. Dammit, why did they both have to look at him with doe eyes?  
  
"Please, Finn." Kurt crossed the room and place a hand on his shoulder. "Please."  
  
"One night. He can stay here for one more night, and then we'll talk it over in the morning. And I stay down here."  
  
"Finn!"  
  
"No, Kurt. I'm staying. And you!" He pointed to Blaine. "I best not wake up with a hatchet in my face and be all brain damaged--"  
  
Kurt snorted. "How would we know?"  
  
"--or all my stuff gone. Okay?"  
  
Blaine nodded his head slowly. "I promise."  
  
"Right." Finn nodded at them. "I'm going to get _Clue_."  
  
"I'm sorry?" Kurt blinked. "You're going to do what?"  
  
"Well, you'll never play it with me because you say we need more than two players and look," Finn pointed at Blaine, "we have three."  
  
"Finn, I hardly think that now is the time for--"  
  
"These are my conditions, Kurt. Take it or leave it."  
  
Kurt glared and glanced over at Blaine, who was avoiding his stare and looking at Finn with a half amused expression. "Fine! Get your stupid game."   
  
Finn grinned as he took the stairs two at a time. Man, he was totally going to be Colonel Mustard.


	9. Chapter 9

Dave lay down on his bed and touched at his lips in a dazed wonder. He'd kissed a boy and liked it. Like,  _really_  liked it.

What the hell was wrong with him? He waited for the familiar surge of self-loathing and disgust but his dinner remained firmly in his stomach. He listened for some nice heterosexual churning to start up in his gut. Nothing. Or perhaps it just couldn't be heard over the excited yelling in his head. Kurt had kissed him back! Him! Dave. He'd appeared to like it just as much as him!  _See, you can't be completely loathsome-_

Wait.  _Wait._  This wasn't following the script at all. Shouldn't he be smashing things up over this? Shouldn't he end up crying and jerking off in the shower like usual?

His lips tasted like cherry. Damn, Katy. You really did notice these things.

 _Dave! Stop it. Focus_. But his mind wouldn't let him. It kept wandering back to how cute and almost child-like Kurt had looked on that door step. Oh, not in a Roman Polanski way, just nervous and sweet and kissable.

Okay, he had done pretty much everything under the sun with Blaine, but he'd never kissed him. That just seemed some sort of weird line that he couldn't cross. A pink gay line with unicorns wearing leather chaps. And a sassy smile.

Now? Dave turned around and he couldn't even see that fucking line.

And there was a distinct lack of caring on his part about that. Maybe Dave could make Thai Green curry (with fresh cilantro and everything!) for Kurt tomorrow? Oh, and they could watch  _The King and I_  then-

Dave's thoughts were broken by the Black Eyed Peas telling him tonight was going to be a good night, several times over. He reached into his jeans, pulled out the cell and took the call.

"Dave," Wes said. "How did it go?"

Oh, shit. Yeah, that. "Fine. It went fine."

"And did he buy it?"

"Yeah. Yeah, he bought it." He didn't want to dwell on whether he had, too.

"Good." The sound like ice hitting glass came down the line. "Have you made plans for tomorrow?"

"I was going to invite him round here and-"

"No," Wes stopped him. "Out of town again, I think."

"You don't have to worry. Nobody will see and-"

"I couldn't care less what people think of you, Dave. For this to continue to work I need it to be discreet. Out of town is discreet. There's a classic movie night on near the old allotment. I'll send you the directions." Wes cleared his throat. "Hummel's updated his Facebook status with a smiley face. I take it he had a good time." A wry laugh. "Did you?"

"You're on Facebook? Did you add me?"

"No, Dave, I'm not-"

"Twitter? Add me on Twitter. I only have five friends on there and four of them are trying to sell me Viagra."

"Concentrate!"

"Sorry," Dave muttered. Fine. Fuck him. Prick probably liked his own statuses.

"Have you forgotten that there's a bond-servant running around with your fingerprints on?"

"They can find those?"

A deep sigh breathed in his ear. "It was just a figure of speech. It is important that this plan goes without a hitch. If you want to get your family out of trouble."

"Sure, sure." Dave's good mood was suddenly deflated. "Maybe if you just told me what the plan was?"

"The plumber doesn't explain to the wrench what it's doing, Dave."

"Did you just call me a tool?"

Wes paused. "I guess I did," he said, feigning surprise. "Now, go text Kurt." He took a sip from his drink and Dave scowled as he listened to the theatrical smack of lips. "You never answered me. Did you have a good time?"

Dave removed the phone from his ear and stared into it, the rush of hatred and anger surprising him. A deep chuckle vibrated out of it.

"I thought so. Good night, Dave."

* * *

"You're totally awesome at this. Like an idiot savant," Finn said with a grin.

"Thanks," Blaine frowned. "I think."

Blaine was totally cool in Finn's opinion. Well, except for a possible crazed killer type thing, but he figured that you had to take the risks for good times once in a while. Anyway, one night of not being murdered had became two, then three and then another week. Finn was all up for keeping him.

First of all, he actually listened to Finn when he talked. Rachel just got upset when he talked about Quinn. Quinn got angry when he talked about Rachel. And Kurt had once made a noose out of napkins when he tried talking it all over with him. Blaine, though? He couldn't get enough.

"Which one do you love?" Blaine asked, slotting another red coin into the top of the plastic frame. "That's what you have to ask yourself."

"I think- I think Rachel?"

"Are you sure? It's not just for the thrill. It's not because you can't have her?" Blaine clapped as he made four in a row. "I win again."

Finn released from the bottom and began separating the piles again. "What do you mean, can't have her?"

"Were you interested before Jesse came back?"

Finn blushed under Blaine's intense glare. "Uh, I guess not."

"And did you want Quinn before or after she moved on with Sam?" Blaine paused. "It was Sam, right? My memory is getting better but-"

"Yeah, it's Sam and I guess- I guess it was after."

"See! You want what you can't have. You made me swap colours with you twice-"

"But please can I be red next time?"

"-I think that you, you-" Blaine twisted up his face, searching for the words. "You're afraid of being forgotten. Left behind."

Finn gaped.

"Oh," Blaine's eyes dropped. "I'm sorry! I forget my place and-"

"Will you stop doing that! You don't have a place, well you do, but it's not like at my feet whatever!" Finn realised he was snapping and took a deep breath. "No, it's just. I think you're right. I don't know. Maybe. Ergh!" He paused. "Come on, man. Don't get all Handchick's Tale on me. Tell me what I need to know."

Blaine sighed. "Look. You're chasing these people because it means you don't have to actually  _commit_  to anything. You can play the wounded warrior, throw up your hands and say, 'well, I tried.' It absolves you of having to make any decisions for yourself and that keeps Finn Hudson  _relevant._  Because stable is boring, stable is to be left behind. If everyone has to keep guessing- what?"

"Dude, you're totally right. Harsh, like my mom was when she drew me a diagram to explain why the sky wasn't falling, but… I have a lot to think about." Finn broke into a lazy grin. "Thanks. You're all right. Kurt's right about you. About you not being a psycho and all."

"Where is Kurt anyway," Blaine asked, lifting his shoulder. "He seems to be out a lot lately and-"

"Yeah, I know. If I didn't know better I'd think he was dating or something."

"Dating? You think that- Really? Oh. Oh, okay." Blaine shrugged again. He seemed to collapse in on himself, though his body barely moved. "That's nice."

"Oh, crap. You totally like him, don't you?!" Finn smiled, then quickly cursed as he dropped the coin in the wrong slot. "Stop distracting me by horn dogging over my brother!"

"I wasn't! I don't! I wouldn't! How could you think that of me?" Blaine shook his head. "I don't like him! I mean, of course I like him but I would never presume that- I mean, with what I am? And- I'm not even, you know, gay."

"Oh, shut up. You are so gay. It's obvious. You've got a totally gay way of blinking." Blaine blinked. "Yeah! Like that." Finn gave a fist pump as he got a diagonal line. "Awesome!"

"But what if I'm not," Blaine asked his eyes downcast. "What if it's part of the training? What if they made me this way?"

Finn looked up, words dry in his throat. They couldn't do that could they? Sure they had those freaky control camps for gay guys to go straight, like what Tom Cruise had gone on, but the other way round sounded wrong.

Yeah, like any of this sounded right.

"You were never, like, into those guys that—you know. Them." Finn's neck felt hot and he kept his eyes trained to the ground. "Like, attracted and stuff?"

"No." Blaine's voice was sure and strong. "Never. I hated them."

"And how do you feel about, uh, Kurt?" This was weird. But it felt important. "Do you like him?"

Blaine didn't answer, he just played absently with one of the game chips, rolling it back and forth between his thumb and index.

"Come on, man," Finn sighed. "You must remember something from before. Do you remember listening to Kylie Minogue or anything like that? Or owning skinny jeans?"

"I- I do remember things sometimes." Blaine bit his lip. "I see faces in my mind. Friends, I think. The name Jeremiah. And I get a strange feeling with them, like fondness or irritation and sometimes-fear. I think they are from before, but my memories, I have a hard time keeping things straight in my head."

"How long have you been, you know, like this?"

"I don't know. Time's hard for me to track." He held up his wrist and smoothed over the skin, over the freaky chip underneath. "I think it might have something to do with this."

"Do you think it's broken?" Finn asked. "And that's why they haven't used it to track you?"

"Maybe." Blaine shook his head and dropped his hand.

Finn pressed his lips together. What if one day they did use it? That would lead them right to the house, and harbouring a bond-servant was illegal. He could go to jail! He was too tall to go to jail! He'd never fit in one of the bunks.

Blaine couldn't stay here. Not forever. But Finn couldn't find it in his heart to think about turning him in. There was just something about the guy, something that made him trust him. No matter the demons in his past.

"Do you want to talk about the guy in the Titan jacket?" Finn asked shyly. "The one like mine?"

"No, I don't. I- I don't remember much, anyway. That's what I mean. I think there were owners before him, I was told there was anyway. But I don't remember his name. I barely remember his face."

"Do you remember what he-" Finn's tongue felt heavy. His stomach felt sick. "Do you remember what he did to-"

"Yes," Blaine said darkly, "I remember that."

Finn nodded and was surprised to feel his eyes were getting wet.  _Freakin' allergies._  Probably all the freaky lotions Kurt had littered down here. He wiped at his face with the back of his hand.

"Even if I- Even if I did like Kurt, it's not like I could be with him, is it? Being what I am? Why would he ever want me anyway? He could have anyone he wanted."

"Actually, he's pretty desperate." Finn held up his hands. "I mean, I think he'd like you back. But-" Finn scratched at the back of his neck. Blaine was right, they could never be together. Not really. And did Finn want to wish a life on the run for his little brother? If Finn couldn't to jail than Kurt definitely couldn't go to jail, he'd seen Oz. Well, trailers for Oz. There'd been a goddamn spoon and that freaked him the hell out. He was kind of glad that his mom was so strict about TV. "I don't know, man. I wish I did." He sat back, surprised a little at the strength of that conviction. "I really wish I did."

Shit, he felt all emfatick and stuff. He wished he could punch out every jerk that had ever touched the kid. He wished he could go back and stop Blaine from doing whatever he had ever done to end up like this. He wished that the stupid law was different. He wished that however this all turned out, that Blaine would get his freedom.

"Do you want to play Buckaroo?" he said instead. "I'm getting tired of Connect 4."

"Yeah, sure." Blaine smiled. "That would be great."


	10. Chapter 10

Kurt Hummel had a boyfriend.

Kurt Hummel didn't  _want_  a boyfriend.

Yes, he knew how absurd that was since he'd wished on his eyelashes for one every time they fell out (last Valentine's day, he'd actually  _pulled_  some out for good measure) but now one was here, he, well- would rather be at home playing  _Articulate_ with Finn and Blaine. And this was  _Finn_. That game took  _weeks_ when he was involved.

"-is Orion's belt," Dave said proudly, placing his arm around the chair rest.

"Where?" Kurt leaned forward and looked out over Miller's Point and into the sky above.

Dave leaned in close, his cheek brushing against Kurt's. "There, see?"

"That's an airplane, Dave." Kurt sighed and sat back.

"Oh," Dave shrugged. "Still! Sweet view, yeah?"

"It is rather lovely," Kurt agreed, taking a long sip of his shake through the straw. He heard a little groan from Dave and realised he was staring at him almost hungrily. Kurt's cheeks heated and he practically spat the straw back out.  _Smooth, Hummel_  "I mean, for Lima."

"Yeah, I guess." Dave swallowed. "I'm sorry about those guys earlier."

"It's not your fault. People are just small-minded. If they don't appreciate a Westwood brooch than I can't really bring myself to care about anything else they have to say."

"I think it's more that you are wearing it on an ushanka, actually." Dave rubbed at his nose and cleared his throat. "Doesn't it get you down? Hearing people call you things like that?"

"Us, Dave. They were calling  _us_  that." Kurt couldn't stop himself. "And wasn't too long ago that you were pretty quick with those endearments yourself."

"I can't keep telling you I'm sorry, Kurt," Dave said quietly. "You  _know_  how sorry I am."

_Did he?_

"Yes, well. Maybe we could just try going to eat somewhere that doesn't deep fry their salad next time. That may help my temperament. What about somewhere more central?"

"I'm not ready yet, Kurt!" Dave snapped, then looked instantly shamed. "I don't want to see people I know and have them call me- _that_."

Kurt sighed heavily, removing the hat from his head and smoothing down his hair. "I know. It's—fine. I understand. People can be cruel and—"

"I just can't- your whole school life, dealing with that. I couldn't face walking in each morning and waiting for the insults," said Dave. He frowned. "Do you ever think about running away?"

There it was. That weird dull tone that Dave often slipped into. Like he was reading off an autocue. It was beyond annoying. Almost as annoying as that goofy look of adulation he'd sometimes throw Kurt's way when he covertly passed him  _Refreshers_ in the hallway. Did Romeo and Juliet have a secret candy message of love? No. They had  _poison._  Kurt sighed: much more hardcore. Much cleaner than a slushie in the face.

"No, of course not," he said eventually. "I have too much here. My friends, my dad." Blaine. "Do you?"

"Sometimes." Dave nodded. "Do you ever think what it would be like in, like, New York?"

"Yes, but not yet." Kurt looked across at him. "Why?"

"I just think- That people like us could be happier there. I mean, you could get a job in that singing restaurant!" Dave was picking up steam now. "And I could work the door on a night club!"

Singing restaurant?!  _Seriously_?

"Dave, what's brought this on?" Kurt reached over and placed his palm over his boyfriend's (boyfriend's!) hand. "Those jerks from earlier?"

"No one would touch us there, Kurt. It could just be us! No one telling me what to do or judging me or-"

"Dave!" Kurt winced at the volume of his voice in the car. "Trust me, the last thing I want is to be here all my life, but when I leave I want to leave a fabulous Kurt Hummel shaped hole in the exit sign. Not slink off like I did something to be ashamed of by just being  _me_."

Dave sighed and glanced out of the car window, a hand rubbing at his jaw. "Yeah, you're right. Just an idea. Forget about it."

Wait, what? This was their fourth date and he was talking about running away? No, Kurt must have misunderstood. Hopefully misunderstood, anyway.

The air was suddenly thick with awkward tension; tension that seemed to grow stronger on every date. Four outings since that first kiss, and Dave hadn't made a move since. Kurt didn't know if that was good or bad. Dave must still like him if he was still so keen to be with him, but why wasn't he making a move? Had Kurt been a terrible kisser? For goodness' sake, he'd bought _Lancome_  lip gloss just for this and he  _hated_  things going to waste. If he'd know how this saga was going to play out, he'd have swiped something from the Covergirl collection at Wal-Mart.

Kurt needed Dave. Because if he had Dave he wouldn't want Blaine so much and, God, he wanted Blaine.

 _Wow_. He really was a terrible person, he knew that. To use one to get over another, when both Dave and Blaine were so vulnerable right now. It wasn't right. That didn't mean that Kurt didn't like Dave, he did. Albeit in a strange kind of way, Kurt honestly believed under all that bravado there laid a nice guy. He just wasn't sure that he was the one for  _Kurt_. But would he be thinking this if Blaine hadn't entered his life? Was he pushing Dave away because he was hoping for some kind of a miracle there?

Kurt hadn't realised just how much he had become to depend on Blaine until a giant Finn-shaped spanner had landed in the works. Finn appeared to have fallen head over heels for Blaine and would not  _get the hell out_. And for Blaine the feeling was more than mutual. He was coming a lot more out of himself, seemed to be laughing so much more this past week and that haunted, hunted look was leaving his eyes. That didn't stop Kurt being jealous of Finn. He was starting to feel like he was Lori Petty and Finn was Geena Davis. He had the freakish height at least.

 _Lanky optimistic bastard_.

And then there was the other thing. The revelation that the boy who had previously owned Blaine had been a Titan. A member of McKinley, someone that Kurt saw every day at school.

A Titan. Like Dave.

Kurt looked over as Dave switched the station, an old Britney Spears song filling the car. "I like this one. Before she got fat and bald and weird. Shit was awesome. You seen the video? She's got this big fuck off snake and-"

"Dave, what do you think of bond-servants?" said Kurt interrupting the slander against his idol.

Dave paled. "Wh- What?"

"You know, the criminals you can buy. What do you think of them?"

"Why are you asking me that?" Dave snapped. "What the fuck are you asking me  _that_  for!"

Kurt's eyes widened. "Calm down, I was just-" A trickle of unease touched at his spine. "I was just  _asking_ , Dave."

For a while neither spoke. Dave simply stared at him.  _He knew something._  Dave knew something. And, Kurt suddenly realised, trepidation crashing through him, that like on every other date they were as far from town as could be.

And nobody knew where he was.

"Do you not like me?" Dave said at last. "Do you not want to go out with me?"

"Wha- What?" Kurt's hand hovered near the handle. "What do you mean?"

"You never seem all that excited to see me. You stare off into the distance, or check your phone constantly or come up with these random questions. Bond-servants? Why do you think I want to talk about some sick shit like that when all I want is to look at some fucking girly stars with my boy- my  _male friend_?" Dave shrugged. "Are you bored of me already?"

"No, Dave, no. Of course not!" Kurt felt the fear deflate in his chest. Oh, God. He  _was_  a terrible person. Here was Dave, putting everything on the line and here was Kurt thinking of unattainable boys and horrible things about him. "I just- It's something I've been thinking about a lot. That's all."

"Bond-servants?" Dave asked, with a single raised brow. "You think about that?"

"There was this documentary," Kurt lied. "It got me interested."

"Interested? Why the fuck would you support something like that, Kurt? It's weird and freaky. Owning people like pets! I can't believe that in this day and age people think that it's okay, you know." Dave paused. "I think- I think it's wrong."

Kurt stared hard in to his face and was surprised to see that not only did he seem to believe that, he looked a little rocked by his own words. Kurt smiled and reached over, gripping at Dave's fist. "I don't support it, Dave. And I'm glad that you don't either. What about the people on the football team? What do you think they think?"

Dave snorted. "Come on, Kurt! I haven't done a survey! Why are you so bothered?"

Kurt hesitated, should he tell him about Blaine? Could he trust Dave? More importantly, did he trust Dave?

No. Not yet.

Plus, the moment Blaine's name fell from Kurt's lips, he had a feeling Dave would know  _exactly_  how he felt about him. And that? That was dangerous for everyone.

"I'm just being silly." Kurt shrugged. "Just getting to know you, I guess."

Dave smiled. "Oh, really?" He shifted in his seat and moved closer to Kurt, his breath ghosting over Kurt's face.

He couldn't do this. It wasn't fair to Dave and he wasn't been fair to himself.

Dave's hand found his hip and began to caress in slow, small circles.

He had to end this. One of them could get hurt.

Dave's thumb pushed up and made contact with skin where Kurt's tee-shirt had ridden up.

Yup. Yup. Had to break up with him. Had to happen.

"Want to make out?" What idiot had said that? Oh, right.  _Kurt_. What was  _wrong_  with him?

"Sure!" Dave practically split his own face open with his Cheshire Cat grin. He leaned across and tipped up Kurt's chin with his finger and bringing his lips to his.

 _No, no_. He couldn't do this. Kurt had to stop because of that, uh, him in the basement. With the hair and the face. Thingy.  _Oh!_ Kurt gasped as Dave nibbled at his ear lobe and began to crawl a hand down from his hip and into the curve of his ass. Now _that_  felt nice. Kurt could feel the tension slipping away as Dave's lips made patterns all over his throat and along the line of his jaw, before capturing his mouth again. His tongue was back, this time it was an eager guest and Kurt's was an even more eager host.

Ten minutes passed. Fifteen. Twenty. Kurt wouldn't have noticed if Dave hadn't drawn back for a desperate gasp of air, and revealed the clock on the dash.

"Dave," Kurt gasped. "We should- my curfew-"

"Tell them Jones kept you talking," Dave muttered, returning his mouth to Kurt's neck. "About food."

"Hey," Kurt swiped at his arm. "Don't talk about her like that!" Kurt leant back and glared at him.

"Sorry, sorry," Dave muttered. "More making out now."

"Oh, like—" Kurt's retort was cut off by Dave's mouth covering his. Fine. He'd yell at him later.

_RA RA RA-RARA! GAGA OHH LA LAA_

Dave pulled back with a sigh. "Your ass is singing."

"What? Oh! It's a message," Kurt explained, hurriedly reaching for the cell in his jean pocket. "It might be my dad."

_**From Finn**  
To Kurt: PLAYING CLUE. BLAINE IS MISS SCARLET._

"Your dad?" Dave asked, his eyes still on Kurt's lips.

"Er, yeah. I'd best be heading back." Kurt gave a small smile. "This was fun, though."

"Yeah," Dave made the word drip filth. "It was." He moved back over into his seat with a lewd grin, as a blushing Kurt tapped out a reply to Finn.

_**From Kurt**  
To Finn: Really? That case must be easier to crack open than Santana's legs. How many times have I told you? It doesn't work with two._

_RA RA RA-RARA! GAGA OHH LA LAA_

"Yeah, you seriously need to get rid of that message tone," Dave said fastening his seat belt and twisting the key in ignition. "What about a nice simple beep?"

"Don't try to change me," Kurt muttered, reading the newest message. "I cannot be tamed." He raised his nose into the air for dramatic emphasis, then returned his attention to his cell.

_**From Finn**  
To Kurt: NOT COOL DUDE. THAT'S SEXY. AND I KNOW IT DOES..._

_RA RA RA-RARA! GAGA OHH LA LAA_

Dave tutted heavily.

_**From Finn**  
To Kurt: I MEANT SEXIST. AUTOCORRECT. DON'T SEE YOU LIKE THAT. ALTHO YOU HAVE NICE HAIR._

What the hell did that mean? Not about the hair, Kurt had  _great_  hair, but about the game. If Finn knows it does, then why the hell does-

No.

You need three to play, Kurt thought.  _You need three._  Oh, no. Oh, no. The idiot wouldn't. Would he?

_**From Kurt**  
To Finn: Tell me you didn't. Tell me you didn't tell someone else?!_

_RA RA_

Kurt cut the sound off before Dave exploded.

_**From Finn**  
To Kurt: AW! RACHEL SAID YOU'D GET THE SUTTLE TEE. I THOUGHT YOU WOULDN'T. SHE SAYS HI BY WAY._

No. Oh, my God no. Kurt stared down at the phone blankly. That was it. It was over. What the hell was he supposed to do now? Maybe it was a joke? Yes! Haha! Finn was  _so_  funny!

_RA RA RA-RA_

Shut the hell up, Gaga! Kurt clicked the envelope almost violently, his knuckle cracking at the impact.

_**From Rachel Berry**  
To Kurt: :D_

"Dave?" Kurt breathed, his chest constricted in panic. "Could you please put your foot down?"

* * *

_Don't, Don't you want me?_  
You know I can't believe it when I hear you won't see me  
It's much too late to find  
You think you've changed your mind  
You better change it back or we'll both be sorry

Karaoke? They were doing karaoke at eleven PM! Did they  _want_  to be caught? Kurt flew through the house, rage almost carrying him down the stairs.

_Don't you want me, baby?_   
_Don't you want me, ohh?_   
_Don't you want me, baby?_   
_Don't you want me, ohh?_

Dancing! They were actually dancing in his basement! Well, Rachel and Blaine were dancing. Finn looked like he was nailed to the ground while experiencing an epileptic fit.

Rachel laughed as Blaine held her by the hand, spun her, then dipped her gallantly. She looked up at him with large sparkling brown eyes and gave a beautiful, heartbreaking smile.

Kurt wanted to rip off his own arms for something to beat her to death with.

_Don't you want me, baby?  
Don't you wa-_

"What the-" Finn looked up at Kurt, who was holding the plug from the stereo aloft. "Hey, I was dancing to that."

"That was not dancing," Kurt hissed. "That was a tree trying to uproot itself." He turned to Rachel and Blaine, with the stupid arms round their stupid waists looking at him with stupid faces. God. They were  _so_  stupid. "What the hell are you doing?!"

"Blaine has an excellent singing voice, it compliments mine most wonderfully. It's like coffee with cream! Or Nancy and Frank Sinatra. But without the eerie incest vibe." She grinned at Blaine. "We should take him to Regionals!"

"Take him to-" Kurt squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed at the bridge of her nose. "Does she know or not, Finn?"

"That Blaine is a bond-servant? Yes, Finn told me." She raised a hand to her chest and sighed dramatically. "It's a travesty. Someone so talented shouldn't be caged. I mean look at Lindsay Lohan."

"And you want to take him to Regionals?"

"To show people that it's wrong. I'm sure once people see that-"

 _"Are you out of your mind?_  Why are you even here? I didn't even know it was your turn this week," Kurt said tartly. "Finn must have forgot to mark it on the calendar."

"Hey!" Finn snapped. "Don't talk to her like that!"

"Never mind her, what about  _you_?" Kurt said with a glare. "What part of  _secret_  was confusing you?"

"Rachel won't tell anyone! It was killing me, Kurt. I had to talk to someone and I couldn't trust Quinn with this."

"She lacks my emotional depth and empathy," Rachel jumped in. "Finn needed a confidante that could both understand and handle the intensity of this situation."

Kurt ignored her. "We need to keep him safe! We need to look after him!"

"What he needs," Finn spat back, "is to have some fun once in a while!"

"Not at the expense of his freedom! What if someone reported the noise, Finn? And they came down here and found Blaine? Did you think of that?"

"It's Saturday night, Kurt. And Burt and mom are on their date night. No one-"

"You can't guarantee that! All it takes is one mistake, Finn. One mistake and we all go to jail and Blaine ends up right back in-"

"Stop it! Both of you!" Rachel hissed. "For goodness' sake!"

Kurt broke off and turned to look at her and realised she was staring sadly at Blaine, her hand gripping his arm. Blaine, whose eyes were down cast. No longer laughing, no longer smiling and no longer dipping pretty girls. "Oh, Blaine. I'm sorry. I-"

"Kurt," Finn place his hands on his shoulder, "I get that you're stressed. That you're worried. But you need a break, we  _all_  do. If someone came down here they'd assume Blaine was a regular teenager like the rest of us, like he  _should_  be. Just let him blow off steam for one night."

Kurt nodded, feeling suddenly teary. "I know- I just-" It was too much. He couldn't handle all these secrets, and his confused feelings for Dave, and this stupid crush on Blaine and-

"Do you want to sing with me?" Blaine asked softly. "I picked it out earlier and Rachel was telling me you the best singer in the club so-" He tilted his head and gave Kurt a wry grin.

"Would you like to?"

"Second best, Blaine," Rachel said. "I said second."

"Really?" Kurt sniffed, picking at the hem of his T-Shirt. "Well. I  _am_  rather good."

"Actually, I forgot about Mercedes, make that third."

"Rachel." Kurt glared. "A moment, please?" He turned back to Blaine. "Okay, why not. I'll sing with you." Where was the harm? It was just a little song. And a chance to show Blaine that Ms. Berry was nothing more than an understudy when it came to retro pop numbers. It might be time to break out the  _Duran, Duran._

"Are we counting Mr. Schue?"

Blaine's smile turned a little shy and for a moment neither boy spoke, eyes glued to the other in a silence that seemed to curl around the room and coat them in its possibilities. Was he imagining it? Blaine couldn't be interested, could he?

_Could he?_

"And Santana, of course. I hate to admit it but she is quite melodic. As is Artie. Hmm, you are definitely better than Mike, though."

"Oh, my  _God_ , Rachel." Kurt shot her daggers, leaning over and putting the plug back in the socket. "Put in  _Rio_  and select track 4. I'll show  _you_  who's second best."


	11. Chapter 11

Dave whistled as he made his way out of football practice. Man, was he in a good mood.  
  
Sun was shining, he’d made some awesome plays and tonight he was getting his mack on with his secret boyfriend. Third base. That was  _so_  happening.  
  
He sneaked a look at his watch. He was set to meet Kurt at seven, which gave him about three hours to get home, showered and changed. Dave's father had to work again, and screw Wes, Dave was inviting him round. He was running out of places to take Kurt and, hell, it wasn’t like all of Lima would be chilling out next to Dave’s bed. That was pretty still covert. Wes could shove it. He was sick of asking  _how high_  whenever Wes yelled  _jump_. He needed a damn night off.  
  
Yeah, life was pretty sweet, despite everything that had gone on, because there was something missing from Dave’s palette of late. Disgust. He didn’t wake up scared of the person he was becoming; he didn’t clench his fists so tight that his nails dug into the flesh of his palm and married blood whenever Sam Evans wriggled by in those tight Levis, he didn’t feel like every second of his life he was dodging in his own shadow. And it was because of Kurt Hummel. His boyfriend.  
  
Not that he was becoming an Elton John or anything. No, just bi-curious or something. That’s all. He was becoming relaxed with his sexuality, and so what if he hadn’t had any feelings for girls before? That was bound to come soon enough. He could, like, experiment in college or something.  
  
Dave turned the corner, approaching a couple leaning against the lockers. Hmm, his nerd radar was tingling.  
  
"--likes a cheerleader, you know?" He heard the goth friend of Kurt's saying to someone. "And Brittany's  _so_  pretty. Why wouldn't he?"  
  
The other figure had his back to Dave and was nodding sympathetically, and he was, like, all up in her personal space. Wasn't she dating Chang? Looks like Goth Chick was stepping out in her tap shoes. Dave smirked, he could have some fun with this, he could--  
  
 _Oh._  She was one of Kurt's closest friends. He remembered she’d cushioned some of Kurt’s locker slams once or twice. And Kurt sure wouldn't appreciate Dave ragging on her pigtails. Fine, whatever. Dave was an awesome boyfriend. He could keep his mouth shut. Hell, maybe he could even, like, bond with her or something. That would impress Kurt.  
  
Seemed all Dave wanted to do was impress Kurt of late. And weirdly, he didn't even care what the fuck that meant.  
  
"--very pretty yourself, you know." The guy was saying. "Seriously, you could be a model. Are you?"  
  
Jesus! Who was this? Fabio? Dave waited for Goth Chick to kick the guy to the crunch but instead she gazed down shyly, a blush rising on her cheeks. What the  _fuck_? Was the eyeliner seeping into her brain or something?  
  
"Thank you. I should probably get going. I hope you find your friend."  
  
"Hey, don't go. Listen, do you fancy maybe getting a coffee or something? You look like you need someone to talk to."  
  
Man, this guy was laying it on thick. Fuck, he sounded almost as smug as-- as--  
  
Dave began to walk towards them fast, not bothering to hide his approach. On reaching them, he clamped a hand down on the slender guy's shoulder and spun him round.  
  
"Oh, hello, Dave," Wes smiled up at him. "I was waiting for you."  
  
 _"He's_  your friend?" Goth Chick's nose twitched in disgust.  
  
Wes shrugged and rolled his eyes as she hid another shy smile.  
  
"Fuck off," Dave said feeling a little breathless. "Go sacrifice something."  
  
"Dave!" Wes admonished. "Language!"  
  
Dave took a step towards the girl. "I said fuck off. Get out of here!"  
  
She glared up at him with angry eyes and then glanced over at Wes. "Your friend's a jerk!" she huffed before turning and storming down the corridor, her thigh-high black boots kicking the shit out of the floor.  
  
"Well, you just charm people wherever you go, don't you?" Wes smiled sweetly. "And what exactly was that little display in aid of?"  
  
"I told you before! Keep away from my school. And keep away from her!"  
  
"Her?" Wes turned and watched her retreating back. "Pretty isn't she?  I might recruit her myself. I don't usually but rules were made to be broken. "  
  
Dave frowned. "Recruit?"  
  
"Oh, come on, Dave. Don't be naïve." Wes brushed at his shoulders, not even wincing when Dave shrugged him off. "She seems lonely. It's not nice to be lonely, is it?"  
  
"What the fuck are you going on about?" Dave grunted. "Why are you here?"  
  
"I came for an update about Mr. Hummel. I'm sure you have some haiku you'll want to share.” He arched an eyebrow. “Is he in love with you, yet?”  
  
“After four dates? Do you think this is a fucking Richard Curtis movie? No, he isn’t.”  
  
“Why not? You are.”  
  
Dave took a wounded step backward. “Don’t be fucking ridiculous. I’m only running around with him because you made me!”  
  
“I didn’t ask you to enjoy yourself quite this much, though, did I?” Wes sighed heavily and leaned against the lockers. “You need to get a move on, Dave. The merchandise is still missing and I’m getting a little sick of this town.” He glanced down the corridor. “Despite its perks.”  
  
“Move on for what? I don’t get what the fuck all this is! Help the—the--" He swallowed and kicked the words from his throat. “--fag kids get laid or what?”  
  
Wes bunched his eyebrows together and looked him over slowly. “Oh. Oh! You really  _are_  that naive.”  
  
Dave pressed his index fingers to his temple and gritted his teeth. “Just tell me what the hell you expect me to do! I don’t know where Blaine ran off to, okay? I’m sorry but I don’t know! What more do you want? I’m dating Hummel for you, aren’t I? Saying all the weird shit you tell me to say and taking him to fucking dives. To satisfy your weird ass kink—“  
  
“He’s a replacement, you idiot.”  
  
Dave ground to a halt. “A replacement for what?”  
  
“What do you think?” Wes shook his head. “For Blaine.”  
  
For a moment, Dave could only stare into the smaller man’s eyes, nonplussed. He broke into a harsh laugh, unable to choke out the words.   
  
“I’m not joking. Before you go through that cliché. You lost something expensive. Something that took an entire year to prepare before it was deemed acceptable for the market. Do you know how much effort and cost went into making him perfect? And you lost him in a fucking week.” For the first time Wes looked rattled. “So, yeah. I’m taking the sweet little virgin you’ve been dry humping in the back of your car, and while I’m at it I’m taking the piece in the boots. Think of it as collateral damage. Then we are clearing out of this shitty little town.”  
  
“No,” Dave breathed out. “You can’t—You said—The catalogue, you can’t just take  _real_  people to replace a bond-servant! There are laws!”  
  
“I don’t exactly operate within the law, Dave. Your father knows that. It’s time you did.”  
  
“My—My father? What does he have to do with this?”  
  
Wes grinned and took a step closer. Dave towered over him but he had all the strength and they both knew it. “Daddy wanted to make Dave’s little problem go away, but Daddy couldn’t afford one of those top of the range numbers. So he went for something cheaper. Something where not as many questions were asked and the paperwork was minimal. He even got a complimentary pen.”  
  
“I don’t understand.”  
  
“Stupid, aren’t you? Your father looked the other way. He didn’t  _want_  to know what he was buying. He didn’t care.”  
  
“What does this have to do with Kurt? Or Tina?” That was her name.  _Tina._  “So, my dad bought a cheap bond-servant? Big deal. That doesn’t excuse you kidnapping people!”  
  
Wes grabbed at own his face and screamed in irritation. “Do I need to draw a diagram on a fucking chalk-board!”  
  
Wait. No. He wasn’t saying  _that_ , was he. Please God, don’t let him be saying that.  
  
“Ah, he gets it.” Wes nodded. “So you see why I’d rather get this over and done with as quickly as possible? All of Dalton’s finest are out looking for Blaine. Most likely he skipped town or is dead in some trucker's back-seat. I’m hoping for the latter, if I’m honest—“  
  
Dave wasn’t listening. He couldn’t if he wanted to. The blood was thundering around his head and his brain was screaming every filthy word and accusation that he could. His eyes were filled with Blaine’s face. Blaine’s tears that he had pretended not to see. Blaine’s whimpers _. Blaine._  
  
He’d thought he was a criminal. He thought there was nothing wrong with what the fuck he was doing!  
  
“—chip activated and we’ll be on our way and—Oh, for goodness' sake, Dave. If you must be sick aim  _away_  from my shoes.”  
  
“You—you lied to me.” Dave dropped to his knees, his jeans smearing the vomit. “I thought he was—I thought it was okay!”  
  
Wes glared down. “Don’t be such a fucking coward. Just accept what you are. I know what  _I_  am because I'm not scared to face it. You think it makes a difference whether he was in the system or if he was taken? Really?”  
  
He was right. Jesus Christ, he was right. It  _didn’t_  make a difference. Even if Blaine had killed ten men, that didn’t give him the right to do what he had done. What Dalton had done. What Dalton  _did_  
  
 _Kurt!_  
  
“I won’t let you take him.” Dave stared up at him. “You can’t have Kurt, or Tina!”  
  
“You are quite possibly the most stupid boy I have ever had the misfortune to encounter.” Wes knelt down, careful of the vomit staining the floor. “You talk? You try and stop me? You and your father will go to jail right along with me.”  
  
“But we didn’t know!”  
  
Wes shook his head with a sad grin. “Not the version I’ll be singing. Hey! Maybe you’ll end up in Dalton Reform yourself! They could trim you down, give you a few tucks here and there. I’m sure you’ll appeal to someone." He considered. "Probably."   
  
“No, stop it,  _please_.”  
  
“Your dad’s over the hill, though. Just a plain old prison for him. Tell me again what happens to people in prison who get their jollies with kids? I always forget!”  
  
“Dad never touched Blaine!”  
  
“Again, not a feature in the remix.” Wes leaned in close. “Are we understanding each other?”  
  
Dave tried to maintain the stare, tried to curb the shaking in his limbs. Tried to stop fucking crying. He lost. Bowing his head, he jutted his chin in affirmation.  
  
“Good. That’s good.” He stood up. “Sorry, I had to be so rough with you, but you simply weren’t delivering the goods. Speaking of, I want Kurt tonight. We haven’t the time to make it look the way we wanted it but it’ll have to do. I’ll have to forget about the lovely Tina, too.”  
  
“The way you wanted it?” Dave asked dully.  
  
“Doesn’t matter. It would take a week explaining to you and you’d end up shitting yourself or something. Honestly, Dave, where’s your self control?”  
  
Dave wiped at his face with his sleeve. “Fuck you.”  
  
“That’s the spirit.” Wes turned his back and began to make his way down the hall. “Kurt Hummel tonight at your house. 9pm. Be there or, well, be fucked.”


	12. Chapter 12

"Do they always do that when they fight?" Blaine's eyes looked up at the ceiling. "Follow each other around while singing?"  
  
Kurt grinned as he stabbed into his chicken with his chopstick. "You don't know the half of it."  
  
Blaine smiled back, leaning over and stealing a strip of meat from Kurt's plate. He laughed as Kurt swatted at his hand. "You said you weren't hungry!"  
  
"A boy can change his mind, Blaine. Listening to Rachel on an empty stomach is ill advised."  
  
"You're so mean to her! You like her don't you?" Blaine teased. "You want to braid her hair."  
  
"Don't push your weird fetishes onto me." Kurt shuddered. "It's bad enough watching Finn do that."  
  
"It took ages to get those tangles out," Blaine mused, taking a sip of coke.  
  
"Listen, I've been Googling." Kurt stared at him intently, inching closer and talking in a whisper.  
  
"Okay," Blaine nodded and then paused. "Is that a sport?"  
  
"No, it's not. It's a search engine." Kurt pressed. "You know, on the Internet?"  
  
"Right. Right." Blaine tapped at his knee with a stern expression. "And what's the Internet?"  
  
Kurt blinked. "Nevermind that for the moment. What I wanted to say is that I looked it up and bond-servants are illegal in Europe!"  
  
Blaine blushed, he really didn't want to ask where that was, choosing to nod enthusiastically instead. Not for the first time he wished Dalton had left him  _some_  practical memories.  
  
"I think if we could get you to there, than you would be safe. I read up on one bond-servant from Texas who managed to escape and make it to Paris! He got to Paris, Blaine! With a fake passport and papers!"  
  
"Really?" Blaine leaned forward excitedly. "And what happened to him?"  
  
The colour drained from Kurt's face and he pushed the plate away. "It won't be easy. But I have the money my mom left me and--"  
  
"Kurt," Blaine reached out a hand, resting it on Kurt's "What happened to him?"  
  
He sighed heavily avoiding Blaine's stare "Dalton caught up with him."  
  
"And re-programmed him?"  
  
Kurt shook his head slowly, his lips in a barely there line.  
  
"Oh," Blaine said. "I see."  
  
"It will be expensive and dangerous. It won't be overnight and I have no idea what I'm doing but--" Kurt tightened his clasp on Blaine's hand. "But we have to try, Blaine. I want you to be free and-- The thing is-- I mean, all of this is up to you--but--"  
  
Blaine laughed softly, moving closer across the floor. "But what?"  
  
Kurt shrugged, looking up coyly from under his eyelashes. "Ummwithyou"  
  
"Sorry?"  
  
"I could come with you." Kurt looked up properly this time, his eyes trained to Blaine's. "If you'd like me to?"  
  
Like him to? Blaine wanted to do somersaults around the room.  
  
"No," he said instead. "It's too much to ask, all of it. You've already done so much--"  
  
"Not enough," Kurt whispered. "After all you've been through."  
  
"I can't, Kurt. We can't." Blaine glanced down. Who were they kidding? The moment Blaine left this basement it would be over.  _They_  had to find him sooner or later. A dark part of him suspected that they knew,  _had_  to know. And this was just another cruel game. They'd take him back, take him away. Away from Kurt.  
  
Blaine's eyes dropped from Kurt's gaze to his lips, and he swallowed thickly.  
  
 _Live a little, Michael._  
  
Blaine shook his head as the voice spoke up. What was that? A smell of a hot dogs? And a tune. One like you'd hear at a fair. Had Blaine ever even  _been_  to a fair?  
  
"Blaine?" Kurt moved even closer, his eyes narrowed in concern. "What is it?"  
  
"I--I--." Kurt's mouth was right there! And all Blaine wanted to do-- No. He couldn't. He had disrupted Kurt's life enough. And what if Kurt was disgusted? Pushed him away? Told him to leave? Blaine was a bond-servant. Nothing more. Nothing less.  
  
 _Where's your sense of adventure?_  The voice asked again from another time.  _I'll be right here when you get back._  
  
Blaine ignored them all. The words and questions scratching at his brain. The discomfort in his gut. All he could see was Kurt. Kurt who had taken him when Blaine thought he was alone. Kurt who had given him friendship when all he could remember was hate. Kurt.  
  
Who he loved.  
  
Closing his eyes, Blaine began to close the distance between them, his head tilted to meet Kurt's.  
  
"Kurt!" Rachel snapped stomping down the stairs. "Could you please tell Finn that I am not talking to him?"  
  
Blaine's eyes fluttered open to Kurt's face, his own eyes wide in surprise and his lips parted. "Blaine, I need to--"  
  
"Kurt! Could you please tell Rachel that  _I'm_  not talking to  _her_?" Finn shouted, following Rachel and joining her at the bottom step. "And even if I was talking to her, I still wouldn't be because I wouldn't be able to get a word in edgeways."  
  
"Oh, that's just--" Rachel crossed her arms and huffed."Kurt, tell Finn that he is being childish. And that those pants are too small for him. Clearly his girlfriend has no taste or she should have bought him something from the  _men's_  section."  
  
Blaine smiled sheepishly, and moved away from Kurt, their fingers still touching slightly. He hadn't been pulling away! He must have known what Blaine was going to do and Kurt hadn't pulled away!  
  
"Would you tell Rachel that she's dressed like, like-- stupid." Finn scratched at his head. "Really stupid."  
  
Kurt gave a weak smile, a blush high on his cheeks. "I'm not sure I can remember that, could you write it down?"  
  
"Oh, I suppose Quinn doesn't dress stupid does she?" Rachel clamped her hands on her hips. "No, because Quinn is so pretty, and so clever and so perfect, isn't she?"  
  
"That's so not fair! How come you're allowed to say all that and I'm not? You just get all mad and stuff."  
  
"Oh, Finn." Kurt shook his head."Really?'  
  
"If Quinn is so wonderful then why haven't you told her about--" The doorbell shrilled out and cut her sentence off.  
  
"I'll get it!" Finn turned round and practically skipped up the stairs. "I'll get it!"  
  
"That boy is infuriating!" Rachel seethed. "I have a good mind to go home!"  
  
Kurt jumped to his feet. "I'll help you find your coat!"  
  
A clatter from above and the muffled sound of two voices arguing floated down, followed by feet furiously pounding across the ceiling.  
  
"Where is he?" A voice shouted. "Come on Hudson, just tell me."  
  
"They've found me," Blaine whispered. They'd found him and now Kurt, Rachel and Finn would pay the price. Clambering to his feet he hugged himself tightly. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."  
  
"We have to hide you!" Rachel spun round. "Kurt, we need to-- Kurt?"  
  
But Kurt's head was tilted, a confused expression on his face. "Dave?"  
  
"Dude! You can't go down there! Get out before I call the police!" The basement door burst open and the three looked up in shock. "Karofsky! Wait!"  
  
No. No. Please God. Not him.  
  
The boy that had owned him,  _used_  him was stood at the top step, his eyes away from where Blaine stood and fixated on Kurt.  
  
He hasn't seen me! I could hide, I could--  
  
Blaine couldn't do anything. His feet were rooted to the spot. All he could do was watch the boy storm down the stairs towards them.  
  
"Kurt, you have to pack," he said tearing across the room. "You have to pack now and we need to get out of here!"  
  
"Dave!" That was his name.  _Dave_. How had Blaine ever forgot it? "What's got into you?" Kurt asked, turning as Dave ran past Blaine and Rachel to Kurt's wardrobe. Kurt shot Blaine a wide eyed glance as he followed Dave, and motioned with his fingers to stay back. "Dave?"  
  
"Get a suitcase or a bag. Just shit you need, no feather boas or stilettos."  
  
"A boa?" Kurt peered into the wardrobe." I don't wear--"  
  
"And money! Your dad got a safe or anything?" Dave dragged a suitcase out of the wardrobe and flung it open. Pushing in clothes in tight little balls of fabric.  
  
"Yes, it has  _baseball cards_  in it. And a penny that got bent in half by truck. What is going on?" Kurt demanded, his hands on his hips. "You can't just come in here and start demanding that I pack. Oh, my God. You don't roll up a McQueen!"  
  
"We have to leave. You're in danger, Kurt." Dave rose and grabbed his shoulders. "I can't let them have you. Not after everything I've already done. And they can't hurt us if we're gone."  
  
"Gone? Who?" Kurt slapped his hands away. "Are you on something, Dave?"  
  
"Er, Kurt. Why is Karofsky here?" Finn asked, slowly stepping in front of Blaine and shielding him. "What's going on?"  
  
His view was blocked by Finn's tall frame but he could hear the frustration in his voice. "He's-- He's kind of my boyfriend."  
  
Boyfriend? Boyfriend. No, that couldn't be right. But Kurt wouldn't have kept this from him, would he? Oh, God. Had Kurt known all this time? Had he just been toying with him?  
  
"Dave Karofsky is your boyfriend?" Finn laughed. "Haha, you're joking right? This is a prank. Karofsky isn't gay. I once saw him punch Jacob Israel for asking if he watched  _The Vampire Diaries_."  
  
"Hudson, we don't have time for this," Dave barked. "Kurt, I'm serious. You need to get some things together and come with me. I don't think he knows I would come here, he thinks that he knows everything about me but he fucking doesn't."  
  
"I'm so confused," Rachel murmured, moving next to Finn so Blaine was even more covered. "You're dating Kurt, you hate _The Vampire Diaries_  and you want him to leave with you? You're, in fact, a homosexual. Have I got that correct?"  
  
"Yes!" Kurt exclaimed. "He is my boyfriend, okay? Kind of. Look, it's hard to explain--"  
  
"What?" Finn spat out. "Him! Kurt he's, he's--"  
  
"I'm what?" Dave's tone was low and dangerous.  
  
"A great catch." Finn began to move backwards, taking Blaine with him. "Seriously. If I was gay, I'd be hitting all over that."  
  
"Who is coming for me, Dave?" Kurt asked. "What are you talking about?"  
  
"Dalton. Dalton are coming for you."  
  
Kurt hissed in an intake of breath. "What? Dalton? I don't understand."  
  
Rachel's hand reached backwards and found Blaine's, squeezing tight. A slow tremble had begun at Blaine's throat and was making its way down his body.  
  
Dalton wanted Kurt.  _His_  Kurt.  
  
"There isn't time to explain!" Dave grunted and Blaine heard a sharp cry.  
  
"Dave! You're hurting me!"  
  
"Hey, get the hell off him!" Finn snapped moving forward. "I said let go, you jerk."  
  
"It was him," Blaine finally spoke at last. The lack of wavering in his voice shocked him. "He was the one that owned me."  
  
The words were quiet but they carried, crashing loudly over the others as they landed. Finn turned and stared at Blaine in horror, the motion unveiling him to Dave.  
  
Dave who stared frozen, his jaw slack and eyes wide.  
  
"Wh--What?" Kurt asked, his upper arm still tight in Dave's grip. "That can't be-- Dave?"  
  
"You," Dave moaned. "You."  
  
"Not you? Please." Kurt looked up, his face suddenly very young. "It wasn't-- It can't--"  
  
"You were  _here_? All this time you were fucking here?" Dave's face was red and his eyes full of angry tears, shaking Kurt absently with each word. "No, this is okay. This is okay. We can fix this!"  
  
"Fix this?" Kurt asked in a wooden voice. He looked over his shoulder towards Blaine. "Fix it?"  
  
Dave let him go, and strode towards Blaine, his eyes glued to him. "I'll just give him back! I'll give him back and then they'll leave you alone! They won't want you then. They won't!"  
  
"Dave! Wait!" Rachel side stepped in front of him and Dave shoved her hard at the hip, knocking her to the ground. He stopped for a moment as if registering her pained gasp, his face twisted in confusion and then turned back to Blaine, towering over him.  
  
"Son of a bitch!" Finn grabbed at his shoulder. "You bastard-- you--oof!" Finn dropped as Dave's fist crashed into his stomach, and sent him to the floor beside Rachel.  
  
"Just come with me, okay? I bought you. You're mine.".  
  
Blaine couldn't move. Blaine couldn't speak. His month of freedom ebbed away and he was a bond-servant again. An object. Possession. A nothing.  
  
And master was calling.  
  
Blaine took a hesitant step forward.  
  
"Don't you dare touch him!" Kurt was on Dave in an instant, scratching, punching, kicking. It broke the spell and Blaine jumped back. "Don't you ever touch him again!"  
  
"Kurt, stop it!" Dave cried as he fought off the blur of limbs. "Just fucking--" He shot an arm out and Kurt stumbled backwards and hit the wall with a yelp of pain. "Fuck! I didn't-- Are you okay?"  
  
Kurt groaned from the floor, feeling at the back of his head. His fingers were stained red. "Don't. Just leave him alone."  
  
"Kurt! Let me help you--"  
  
"Don't you dare fucking touch me," he hissed. "Get out!"  
  
"Aren't you listening?" Dave shouted. "They are pissed I lost him!" He pointed at Blaine. "And want you to replace him!"  
  
"That makes no sense!" Finn was scrambling to his feet. "Kurt cries when someone leaves the milk uncapped. He's not a criminal. Why would they take him?"  
  
"Because--" Dave looked at Blaine, then dropped his eyes. "Because they did it to him."  
  
"Wait," Rachel said from the ground. "What do you mean?"  
  
"He didn't--" Dave swallowed and even the sound made Blaine want to vomit. "He didn't  _do_  anything, okay."  
  
 _No._  
  
Rachel raised a hand to her lips. "You mean-- he's innocent?"  
  
 _Please no._  
  
Dave shrugged, his eyes on Kurt who had curled into himself. "Yeah, something like that."  
  
Oh, God! The one thing that had made it all bearable was believing on some level that it was  _justice_. He had done something so horrible that he deserved it. This half life that he had been enduring, and now? It had all been for nothing.  
  
"You're lying," Blaine whispered shaking his head and taking another step back.  
  
"Don't." Finn held a hand out and rested it against the advancing Dave's shoulder. "Just hold on. Just for a minute. What are you talking about?"  
  
"They took him. I don't know where from or why. They just took him and fucked him up and then sold him."  
  
"To you?" Kurt was scrambling up, his face pale. "They sold him to  _you_."  
  
"I didn't know!" Dave protested. "Do you think I would have-- I didn't fucking know, okay?"  
  
"That doesn't make it right," Finn said quietly. "You have to know that, right. He's just a kid, like us. Like you."  
  
"Shut up," Dave shoved his hand away. "You don't know anything. I have to take him back."  
  
"You can't do that! You think we are going to let you walk out of here, man?" Finn pushed at his chest. "You're a goddamn monster. You come in here, shove my girlfriend over--" Rachel gave a happy gasp. "Give my little brother a freakin' head injury and now you want to take off with Blaine so a bunch of corrupt weirdos can rape him?"  
  
Dave didn't ward off the blows this time. "What choice do I have?" He asked sadly. "They want Kurt!"  
  
"Well, they can't have me." Kurt snapped, walking towards them. He looked pale and small, but his eyes were alight with an anger that seemed to overwhelm him. "And they can't have Blaine."  
  
"I don't know what to do! Okay? I just-- I don't know what to do!" Dave crossed and grabbed at Kurt's shoulders. "Wait! I know! We'll leave him!" Dave said excitedly. "If that's what you want. And we'll go away. Like I planned. Just get the fuck out of this fucking town. New York! Like you wanted!"  
  
Dave's hands on Kurt. His filthy, lying, disgusting, goddamn hands. How many times had they been on him? Staining him with their pollution? The same hands that had--had--  
  
"Blaine!" Kurt gasped as he attacked. "Don't!"  
  
Blaine was gone, whoever  _he_  was, this was pure uncontrolled fury with a heart beat and an instinct. He tore at Dave, bringing him to the ground, his fist diving into his face, over and over.  
  
He felt arms under his armpits and jerked his head backwards with a snarl, ignoring the gasp of pain from Finn. Released he dived on Dave again.  
  
Never had Blaine felt a rush of such a single, uncontrolled emotion and it was all hate. He was going to kill him, commit the crime that he thought had already happened. Dave tried to cover his face but Blaine's blows landed, so hard he could feel pain exploding across his knuckles one every blow.  
  
For all the orders. For all the shame. For all the memories lost.  
  
"Blaine, please!" A small voice, pure and sweet. Kurt. "He's not worth it."  
  
Kurt.  
  
Blaine came back. Kurt's arms encircled around his shoulders and pulled him from Dave and into his arms.  
  
"It's okay," Kurt murmured, rubbing at his back in a soft smoothing pattern. Blaine supposed he thought that Blaine was crying. Blaine wondered why he wasn't.  
  
"Kurt, please." Dave pushed himself up, his face a mass of red and tears. "Just come with me. I need you to be safe. We have to go."  
  
"Get out. Tell them whatever you want." Kurt slipped from Blaine's grasp and the loss of warmth ached. "Get the hell out, Dave."  
  
Dave got to his feet slowly, his eyes wandering over them all. "Kurt," he said, wiping at his face with the back of his sleeve. "Please."  
  
"He said go, Karofsky!" Finn's voice muffled by the injury to his nose. Blaine would feel bad for that. Soon. All he felt now was confusion. "Go on, get out." He went to approach but Rachel grabbed at his elbow. "You're not wanted here."  
  
"Kurt! Please!" Dave clutched at his short hair in frustration. "I love--"  
  
"Don't you dare," Kurt hissed. "You don't know anything about that word."  
  
"I know you feel something for me!" Dave stepped towards them both, his hands held up in surrender. "I know you do!"  
  
"All I feel for you, Karofsky, is revulsion." Kurt turned his back, and Blaine found his hand again. Staring at his profile and hating the pain he found there.  
  
Dave nodded. Once, twice. And then began to back away. "Run, Kurt. Will you at least do that? They're coming. If--" His voice broke. "Just stay safe." His eyes found Blaine's. "I'm-- I'm--" He hugged himself hard and released a sob. "I'm going to go now."  
  
Kurt didn't answer, just continued to stare at the pale wall, his jaw fixed tight. With a last long look at Blaine, Dave turned tail and took to the stairs.  
  
On hearing the front door slam, Kurt's shoulders hunched and he covered his face with his hands. "I'm so sorry, Blaine. Oh, my God. I'm just so sorry!"  
  
"You're innocent," Rachel whispered again. "All this time, all those things they did to you. And you were innocent."  
  
They all jumped at the sound of a chair been kicked with force and turned over. Finn stood over it, his hands clenched and teeth gritted. "Him, Kurt? You and Karofsky?"  
  
"Finn, he didn't know," Rachel soothed. "Kurt didn't know."  
  
"But I should have! It was staring me in the face in the entire time. He was a Titan, he was confused. It was  _Dave fucking Karofsky!_ "  
  
"Why did you keep it a secret?" Finn demanded. "Can you at least tell us that?"  
  
"Don't you think we have more pressing matters?" Rachel interrupted. "For example that Dave could be on his way to Dalton as we speak?"  
  
"Because he liked me," Kurt whispered. "And I wanted to be liked. Just once." Kurt glanced at Blaine then dropped his eyes. "Plus, he took my mind off you, which is sort of ironic, I guess."  
  
"I don't understand?" Blaine stepped into Kurt's space. "Your mind off me?"  
  
"Because I--" Kurt swallowed. "Because I--"  
  
"Guys!" Rachel clapped her hands in quick succession. "Can't this wait until later?"  
  
"I'm sorry, Blaine," Kurt said. "Please forgive me."  
  
Instead of answering, Blaine hugged him tight, feeling the shiver of his slender torso against his chest as he quietly cried into the crook of Blaine's neck. Over his shoulder, Rachel and Finn stood motionless. At some point the two had joined hands, both looked shell shocked and just a bit teary themselves.  
  
Innocent. He was innocent. And so was Kurt. No matter what, Blaine was going to keep him that way.


	13. Chapter 13

Dave stumbled from the house, his face aching from Blaine's blows and tears stinging his eyes.  
  
 _Fine. Fine! I'll just get out myself._  He flung open the door to his truck, trying to pretend the sobbing wasn't coming from him as he climbed in. Fuck them all, he'd tried hadn't he? At least he’d done that.  
  
Pulling away from the house, he heaved his breaths from his chest, each one hurting more than the last.  
  
Why did he have to be like this? If he wasn't, then his dad would never have brought home that damn catalogue. None of this would have happened.  
  
But Kurt--  
  
What about Kurt? Who cared what the resident queer thought of him? Like what, maybe if Dave had just gone up to him one day at school and asked him out and there'd never been a Blaine everything would be different? It would all be okay?  
  
Maybe. Maybe Kurt would have smiled shyly and nodded. Dave would have been scared until he did that, but not because some severe cheek-boned fuck was threatening him but in case Kurt had said no. They'd have gone to Breadstix, maybe with that loud Jones girl, and had a nice public meal. Maybe Kurt would have held his hand in the hallway at school (in his dreams, he was braver than in sad, fierce reality) or at home when he told his father that he was--  
  
Had Dave actually been ready to tell  _Kurt Hummel_  that he actually loved him? What was wrong with him?  
  
Oh, what was the fucking point in torturing himself? That was all gone now. Everything, as always when it came to Dave Karofsky, had gone to shit.  
  
Dave punched the steering wheel and screamed at the sneering voices in his head. Berry's accusing, Hudson's disgusted, Blaine's hurt and Kurt's hate. Round and round they went, poking at him, laughing. Knowing him.  
  
Yeah, fuck them. Dave Karofsky didn't need any of them. His dad would be better off without him, too. They all would. All Dave did was hurt people, make a mess and fuck everything up. How many times had his own father warned him of this? How many times did he need to see disappointment crest in his father’s eyes to know that he was a Grade-A failure?  
  
Well, not anymore, because Dave Karofsky was getting the hell out of dodge.  
  
His cell began to ring on his dash, Will I Am and the gang with another nightly prediction. Fuck them, too. It was a fucking awful night and there certainly wasn’t anything to cry  _mazel tov_  about it. What the hell did they know?  
  
Will I Am was pretty insistent though, and more repetitive than usual. Every time the machine picked up it would start again a minute later. Probably his dad, Dave was meant to be making dinner tonight. His dad had a lot of takeaways in his future, once Dave was gone. Then again, maybe it was Kurt? Maybe he wanted to talk. Needed help getting out of Lima. Maybe.  
  
He snatched up the phone. "Kurt?"  
  
"Wes, actually. Eager, aren't you? You only just left Mr. Hummel's."  
  
"You're watching me?" Dave's eyes searched the deserted road.  
  
"Can't take my eyes off you. I appreciate your lovely build," Wes said. "Tell me. What did you and young Mr. Hummel discuss? I'm afraid my ears were burning and it wasn't left for love but right, for spite."  
  
"What the fuck are-- We didn't talk about anything, okay? I don't want to be involved. Do your own dirty work."  
  
"Have you forgotten our little chat, Dave?” A disappointed sigh. “I thought we understood each other."  
  
"Yeah? Tell the police that dad and I knew. I'm sure that it will help ease the life sentence." Dave decided to call his bluff. "Hey, wonder what happen to you in prison, Wes? With your fruity little ways I'm sure you'll be Queen Bitch in no time. Maybe we'll share a cell?"  
  
“Where did you get that backbone, Dave?” The snideness was slipping from Wes’ voice. "Don't you dare threaten me--"  
  
"Or what? Hmm?"  
  
"Kurt. I can hurt Kurt, Dave. I can do it while you watch. And I'll do it slowly."  
  
"You've been up all night watching Hammer Horror, haven't you?" Dave laughed down the phone. "Kurt's gone, you dick. What are you going to do? Go-Go Gadget hands?" Wes sucked in his breath tightly and Dave felt a swell of hope in his gut. "Yeah. That's right. And guess where I'm going? To the cops."  
  
"Do you honestly expect me to believe that?" Wes asked. "We both know that you are nothing but a two-bit, cowardly  _faggot_. You haven't got it in you."  
  
"Yeah, I am." Dave blinked slowly. "I am a coward. And I'm gay. You don't have any hold over me, Wes."  
  
It was like a boulder off his chest, Dave felt like pulling over and crying. Instead he turned the wheel and made a left, heading for the Lima police station instead of the town's exit. He was going to do it. He was actually going to it!   
  
"Is that so?" Wes sounded contained but a tremble of fury vibrated through the words.  
  
"I'm going to tell them everything. I don't care what happens as long as you don't do this to anyone else. Hurt anyone else."  
  
"Dave, your dad--"  
  
"They'll believe me. I wandered in of my own accord, but Dalton? Big powerful company like that? They've got reason to lie."  
  
“You’re not thinking straight, Dave. Just calm down and let’s discuss this like grown-ups.”  
  
“Got you worried now, don’t I?” Dave made another lift, grinning as rounded a corner. “You thought I’d just roll over, didn’t you? Yeah, well fuck you.”  
  
“Fuck me?” Wes hissed. "You have absolutely no idea who you are dealing with, little boy."  
  
“Some slimy shit that is going to be buying himself a Rita Hayworth poster?”  
  
"Oh, Dave." Wes' tone turned polite and crisp. "Did you know that there are over 5,000 road deaths in the US a year due to ‘distracted driving‘?" He continued in the pleasant voice. "And most of them are attributed to cell phone use?"  
  
Dave frowned. "Wha-- What the fuck you talking about, limp dick?"  
  
"Another factor is not paying due care and attention. I don't think I've seen you use your rear view once."  
  
"I don't--" Dave stopped, his eyes lifting to the mirror, to the blue Mercedes following close behind, to the man who was looking back, cell phone pressed to an eager ear.  
  
"Eyes on the road, Dave, sharp bend coming up."   
  
The car started forward, plunging into the back and causing Dave to skid.  _What the-_  Dropping the cell and gripping the wheel, Dave's foot pressed down hard on the accelerator.  
  
 _Fuck! Fuck_! He had to get away from him. Why had he worked him up like that? He had to get to the station, to make it all alright, for Kurt. For his dad.  
  
For Blaine.  
  
The car behind sped up again and rear ended him, Dave gave out a moan. There was a straight patch just after this corner, if he could just get to that, if could just get to it.  
  
The Mercedes was at his side now, ramming into the back and sending the wheels into a spin.  _Please God, please. Just let me get past this—_  
  
The racing car crushed into his side again and for one brief moment his and Wes’ eyes met. The bastard was a smiling. _Smiling_.  
  
One split second. That’s all it took.  
  
Dave lost control, his feet slammed to the brakes. The sound of rubber and grinding metal filling his world as the vehicle spun.  
  
 _No, no, no!_  
  
It was too little too late. He went over the edge, sailing into the air and towards the rocks below. They rushed up to greet him like long lost siblings. Time seemed to slow, and Dave could swear he heard a laughing from the cell on the floor. But mostly all he heard was the rushing wind and his own screaming.  
  
 _It's not fair_ , he thought,  _I never even got the chance to say I was sor--_  
  


* * *

  
  
Wes stood at the cliff edge, the flames from below heating his face.  
  
Such a waste of a young life, he thought sadly. Personally, he blamed the parents.  
  
He sighed heavily. His therapist was going to have a field day with this. Yet another outburst of anger. Of course when he told her about this, Dave would become an overturned table or a smashed mug. Wes wasn't an idiot.  
  
Not that his superiors would agree. This was yet another screw up in the Anderson line. Wes was regretting ever picking up the damn phone to the Karofsky family. No way was he keeping his commission after this.  
  
Taking his cell from his jacket he quickly dialled, holding it to his ear and fixing his face into a grin. Smile on the phone. Clients could hear that smile, it reassured them. Calmed them. Charmed them.  
  
"Dalton Main Office," a voice answered. "How can I help you?"  
  
"Put me through to Thad. Tell him it's Wes." The lackey didn't need telling twice, connecting Wes before he had even finished speaking.  
  
"Wes. Tell me something good." Great. Now he'd have Chaka Khan in his head all night. "Is the situation sorted?"  
  
"Karofsky B has been eradicated."  
  
"Are you sure?" Thad asked. "My faith has been rocked of late."  
  
"Ninety nine percent sure." A second explosion erupted below. "Make that one hundred. The kid's dead."  
  
Thad grunted. "And the boy he was working? Hunter?"  
  
"Hummel. I'll bring him in now. It's not going to be a smooth extraction. No time to make this slick. But-- I think Karofsky talked."  
  
"Christ. This has been one shit storm after another!" Thad growled. "Bring him in. What about Karofsky A?"  
  
"He won't talk. He doesn't know anything and he's about to find out about a tragic loss." Wes turned away from the wreckage and climbed into his car. "He isn't going to want to talk."  
  
"Maybe he should have an accident, too. Strike maybe. Arrange it. Pills, rope, a great height. Anything."  
  
"Fine," Wes nodded, fastening his belt. "It's done."  
  
"One last tie up. Anderson. He's been gone a month. That's about enough of that."  
  
Wes froze. "You're not suggesting--"  
  
"I am. I've had enough of that damn cow town and I want all of my men out. We'll just have to take the risk." Thad cleared his throat. "Activate the chip."


	14. Chapter 14

"Come on," Kurt's head was throbbing from the blow but he was glad for the distraction from his roiling emotions. "Drive faster, Finn."  
  
"I'm trying not to draw attention to us, Kurt," Finn retorted. "Stop kicking my seat."  
  
"How's your head?" Blaine asked, his fingers interlocked tightly with Kurt's. "Does it still hurt?"  
  
"I think it just looks worse than it is," Kurt answered softly. "How-- How are you?"  
  
Blaine shrugged. "I don't know. Weird. Sad. Angry. Everything." He bit his lip, watching the world run by the windows. "Did he-- Kurt, did Dave--" Blaine looked back, his eyes cast low.  
  
"No," Kurt answered. "But that doesn't mean I don't want to bathe in bleach once we get somewhere safe."  
  
"You could have told me." Blaine smiled. "I'm your friend." Kurt loved the way he seemed to savour the word, as if he finally felt he was allowed to. "I would have understood, and maybe we could have, I don't know, stopped him."  
  
"I know, I should have, but I wasn't sure what I felt for him. Plus, I thought he was closeted and scared. I thought I was actually _helping_  him." Kurt laughed bitterly. "Now I see I really was-- what do they call it? Aiding and abetting?”  
  
"No, Kurt. No!" Blaine turned in his seat. "You can’t take the blame for this. None of this is your fault. Okay?" He reached out a hand, hovering near Kurt's cheek. Just like earlier, Kurt's breath caught. Their eyes locked and Blaine's palm finally made contact with his skin, his gently touch like a pleasant heat that was connected with Kurt's every sense. Kurt closed his eyes, leaning forward.  
  
"This is so romantic," Rachel sighed, watching them with round wet eyes. "It's like _Brief Encounter_ meets _Hostel_."  
  
 _Rachel Berry. Cock-blocking homing pigeon_.  
  
Kurt turned to her with a scowl. "Could you," he made a twirl with his finger, "turn around?"  
  
She smiled widely. It almost masked the worry in her face. "I just think it's nice. That you found each other, that's all."  
  
"She has a point." Blaine smiled softly and bumped against his shoulder. "Every terrifying, evil cloud and all."  
  
Kurt leaned back in his seat, his fingers still linked with Blaine‘s.  _Karofsky_. How could he have been so stupid? How had he let such a monster in his life? Was he really so desperate for attention that he would leave himself blind to all the signs? He swallowed painfully, closing his eyes.  _I nearly led him right to Blaine._  
  
"Looks like the road ahead's closed," Finn said. "Must’ve been an accident."  
  
"Great, just our luck," Kurt muttered. "Try going through Lemur Avenue. It should cut out just by Jacob's house."  
  
"Why are we even going there anyway, man?" Finn's eyes met Kurt's in the rear-view. "Shouldn't we be storming the police station?"  
  
"That will take time," Rachel said, turning to face him. "And I've seen enough action-packed conspiracy movies, namely while dating _you_ , that the police are involved. Most probably the mayor, too."  
  
"The mayor?" Kurt raised an eyebrow. "Don't you think you're being melodramatic?"  
  
"Do you want to take that chance?" she asked. "Trust me. My plan, dangerous and exciting and Rachel Berry as it may be, is the best by far."  
  
"What  _is_  your plan?" Kurt moved closer to Blaine on the backseat. "And what has Jacob Israel of all people got to do with this?"  
  
Rachel tossed her hair over her shoulder. "I'm glad you asked.” Somewhere Angela Lansbury was making an impressed face. “You see, if we go to the police, even if they are to be trusted, there will be barriers, blocks. It will take time. And who knows how powerful Dalton really is. We may never get our day in court." She clutched at her throat. "And I'm the star witness."  
  
“You’ve got this all planned out, haven’t you?” said Finn.   
  
“Yes! I’ll wear my best lilac silk scarf and my best innocent Cosette face--”  
  
“Your best innocent Cosette face?” asked Kurt.   
  
Rachel managed a pouting, clueless expression. “I don’t understand, Your Honour!“ she cried, pounding the seat.   
  
Kurt raised an eyebrow. “Impressive.”  
  
"Thanks. I’ve been practising since we left the house,” said Rachel. “Left here, Finn. No, your  _other_  left."  
  
They fell into silence once again as Finn drove. Kurt glanced over to Blaine once more, feeling sadness crash through him once again as his friend -- God, how that had hurt, to see Blaine’s warm smile upon finally managing to say that word with feeling -- seemed lost in his own thoughts.   
  
What had Karofsky done to him? How could someone act like that? How could the same boy who had shown Kurt the stars and talked earnestly of  _the future_  hurt someone else?   
  
His head hurt again. Karofsky had deserved his punches. He deserved to be out there, outcast, now. He’d been pure evil, hadn’t he?   
  
 _No_ , thought Kurt, his heart lurching within him.  _He wasn’t pure evil. And that’s the worst thing. Because I don’t-- I don’t understand it._    
  
He shook the thoughts from his head. Now wasn’t the time. “Okay. So you want to bypass the police?” Kurt asked. “How?”  
  
“Jacob’s the key. We need to get the word out. There is no power like the media. And once Blaine’s face is out there, everyone will know what happened. No matter Dalton try to pull, they’ll know.” Rachel looked back at them, her expression softening. “Your family will know.”  
  
“Oh, my God.” Kurt grabbed at Blaine’s hand. "You have a family out there, Blaine," Kurt whispered. "And we're going to get you back to them."  
  
A lump rose in his throat at the hope in Blaine's eyes. Oh, God. He hoped he wasn't lying to him. After everything that had happened, let him have his happy ending.  
  
"Kurt," Blaine wiped at his eyes, "thank you. Thank you for everything that you--" Blaine's body jerked forward and he gave a sharp gasp of pain.  
  
"What happened?" Finn asked, shooting a worried glance into the back seat. "What is it?"  
  
“In my head! One in my—“ Blaine broke off with a groan and jerked again. “Oh, God it hurts!”  
  
“I think-- I think it’s the chip,” Kurt answered, staring in shock as Blaine writhed in agony. Clutching at his wrist one moment and his head the next. “I don’t know what to do!”  
  
“I have a pen knife on my key ring! Cut it out!”  
  
“Excellent!” Kurt snapped, trying to grab Blaine’s shoulders as he rocked back and forth. “Then I’ll take out Rachel’s tonsils.”  
  
“I don’t—“  
  
“It’s in his wrist, okay! Next to all these silly veins and stuff. I don’t want to hurt him!” Blaine gave out a groan that broke Kurt’s heart. “And it said on the Internet that disturbing it sets off the tracking device. You think I didn’t think of this a month ago?”  
  
“We have to do something,” Rachel said, her hand covering her mouth as she watched. “Anything.”  
  
“I don’t know what to do,” Kurt whispered. “I just don’t know.”  
  
Oh, God. Blaine.  
  
No, no, no, no--  
  


* * *

  
  
\-- no, no, no. He was not going to chicken out. He had given his word. And besides he wanted to.  
  
He did. He really, _really_ did.  
  
Looking his reflection over, he smoothed the gel into his hair, tilting this way and that. He looked good, like, date good. If you ignored the terrified expression on his face that was.  
  
"Michael?" His father called up. "Someone on the phone for you."  _Jeremiah_! Grabbing his bag, Michael looked around his room one last time and tried to ignore the sentimental pull. It was just a room.  
  
Bounding down the stairs, he took the phone from his father’s hand, almost knocking himself out as he pressed it to his ear. “Hi,” he breathed as his father rolled his eyes and wandered back into the kitchen. Dropping the bag, he sat himself down on the bottom step and lowered his voice. “I’m ready.”  
  
"You remember what to say?” Jeremiah asked.   
  
“The fair. Back at eleven.”  
  
“Good. I have the bus tickets.” Jeremiah sighed heavily. “I’m so psyched we are doing this, Mike.”  
  
“I am, too.” Michael swallowed. “I love you.”  
  
There was a silence on the other end of the phone, “I love you, too. I’ll see you at eight.” The line went dead.  
  
Michael stared at the received and gripped it tight. This was happening. Really happening. Three months ago he’d barely been existing. He thought coming out had been the biggest mistake he had ever made. Every day was a fresh delivery of hell and now? Well, now he had Jeremiah. He didn’t need the kids at his school or his father or anybody. Because he had Jeremiah.  
  
Michael stepped up and walked into the kitchen, watching his father’s back as he dryed the dishes. “I’m going out now, dad. To the fair.”  
  
“With that Jeremiah kid?” His father called, pretending nonchalance and failing miserably.   
  
“Yeah, him.” Michael tried to think of something to say. Something lasting. But what was the point? His father heard what he wanted anyway. He could only try for so long, couldn’t he? How many years had he fought for his father’s affection? He’d tried making him proud, acting up, being the perfect son. Now it was easier to fade into the background and hope he wasn’t a nuisance. He couldn’t change his father any more than he could truly change himself. His dad would always wish for the straight son. “I’m going now. So—So, I’ll see you.” He turned to go.  
  
"Son," Michael stopped, his hand tightening on the bag strap and his mouth dry.  
  
"Yeah, dad?"   
  
"I'm sorry. About shouting at you over the car, you know." His dad was facing him now, a blush on his cheeks. He grabbed at the back of his neck. "I know I get, ah hell, I act like a jerk. I don't mean it, kid."  
  
Michael nodded blankly. "It's okay, dad."  
  
"It's not-- I just-- I'm no good at this stuff." He turned his back, busying himself with the plates again. "Want to work on it over the weekend?"  
  
 _I can't, dad. I'm leaving. I'm going away with that boy with the 'fairy' haircut. I'm leaving this big house filled with awkward disappointed silences. I'm leaving you and this town and this life._  
  
"Sure, dad." Michael smiled sadly, as he backed out of the kitchen. "That'll be great."  
  
"See you later, kid. Have a good time. Don't stay out too late. You got school tomorrow."  
  
Michael walked out the door. He wondered how long it would take for his parents to find the note. He wondered if they'd be relieved.  
  


* * *

  
  
"Think of it as a celebration!" Jeremiah laughed, stealing some floss from Michael's candy. He popped it in his mouth with a grin. "This time tomorrow we'll be out of this cow town and soaking up Fifth Avenue."  
  
"But did we  _actually_  have to come to the fair? I thought it was just a cove-- Jeremiah, will you slow down? This bag is so heavy!"   
  
"I told you to pack light, Mikey!" He darted further ahead. "Did you fetch every single Broadway programme?"  
  
"Um," Michael shifted the strap. "No, just my favourites."  
  
"Hmm," Jeremiah tilted his head. "I see."  
  
God, he was beautiful. Michael felt like clamping his hand over his mouth to suppress nervous giggles every time he saw him. That someone like Jeremiah could actually want someone as insignificant as Michael was mind blowing. That someone like Jeremiah actually loved Michael? It sort of made him want to break down and cry.  
  
"What are you staring at?" Jeremiah's eyebrows knitted together in annoyance, like they always did when he thought Michael was being silly.  
  
"You," Michael said simply. "I just love you. That's all."  
  
This time Jeremiah didn't say it back. This time he didn't wrap his arms around him and kiss him as slowly and deeply as he usually did. Instead he shot an annoyed glance around him. "Not here!"  
  
"But--"  
  
"How many times, Michael? People round here, they don't understand. Will never understand. They all think just like your dad, okay?" Jeremiah turned and began walking away again. "It'll be different soon."  
  
Michael ignored the hurt and embarrassment that was spreading through his chest, bowing his head and following him through the crowds of people. Jeremiah was right. This town would never accept them, his  _father_  would never accept them. But it was okay. It would all be alright soon.  
  
"Jeremiah!" He called out, stopping and reading a sign. "Madame Lauremi reads your fortune," he read out loud. "Shall we?"  
  
Jeremiah groaned heavily, and looked back the way they were heading. "Those things are just crackpots and superstition. Don't waste your time."  
  
Michael rearranged his face into his puppy with sore paw, looking from Jeremiah to the tent and back again.  
  
Shooting another look behind him, Jeremiah sighed. "Fine. But we need to be on the bus by ten, okay?"  
  
Michael gave a little jump and began to walk backwards. “I’ll be five minutes tops. I pretty much know my future.” He winked and entered the tent.  
  
Adjusting his eyes to the dimly lit surroundings he made his way to the table, where a pretty young woman smiled up at him, her eyes were heavily smudged with kohl.  _Well, she looks the part, at least._  
  
“Hi, er. I was wondering if I could—uh—you know?” He motioned towards her. “Get my fortune read.”  
  
“Sure, kid—“ She blinked. “I mean, let it be so.” She corrected in a hard to place accent. “Seat yourself, my child.” She leaned forward. “Ten dollars,” she said in a stage whisper.  
  
 _Child? You’re barely older than me!_  Michael thought as he sat himself down, handing over the money.  _Why am I even in here?_  
  
Stalling?  
  
No, why would he stall? He wanted to go with Jeremiah. He wanted away from this town and the prejudice. He wanted New York.  
  
“—ready?” Her voice broke into his thoughts.   
  
“Yes, yes. I’m ready.”  
  
She spread the cards in a circle with one hand and looked at him expectantly over the table. “Choose three cards for me--” she slapped his hand away as he reached over. “Not just any three, not just the ones closest to you. Clear your mind. Focus. Take as long as you want.”   
  
Michael smirked. “Okay, I’ll think.” He closed his eyes.  _This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever done. Oh, let me guess: I see riches in your future. You’re going far, young man. Whoo._  He opened his eyes. “Okay, I’m going to choose,” he said gravely.   
  
He flipped over the first card to his left.   
  
“The eight of swords,” she murmured.  
  
Shit.  _Swords_? That was going to be a bad card. He considered, made to pick another card, pulled back.   
  
“Just choose wisely,” she said. “The cards will speak to you.”   
  
A card caught his attention, just on the edge of his vision. He turned and picked that. “That’s better. A castle!”   
  
“It’s the Tower,” she said softly. “Hmm.”   
  
He didn’t like how her voice dropped in that manner. Was this another bad card? He reached out, flipped another over. “There!”  
  
“The moon.” She was silent for some time. It seemed as if melancholy crested within her and thickened the atmosphere of the room.   
  
“What’s wrong now?” he asked, exasperated. “Swords, tower, moon! It’s some wizard thing or something, right?”   
  
She looked up at him. “You’re putting blind faith into something. You think you know the truth about things. You think you’re _safe_. You’re going to be shaken out of that belief. The swords -- you’re trapped. The moon is giving you a choice: are you dog or wolf? You can choose the correct path. You can be shown the way out--”  
  
“What?” he said, his voice catching.   
  
“Listen to me, son,” she said gruffly. Her accent had completely changed from the inscrutable foreign twang to a regular Midwestern voice. “You don’t have to prove yourself. You don’t have to go through with what your friends are telling you. Walk your own path. It’s a warning. Believe me, it’s a  _warning._ ”  
  
Michael laughed nervously. “Okay, I—I understand.” She stared at him unblinking, her mouth set in a vicious line. Right. That was quite enough of that!  
  
"Thanks! But--I've got to go,” Michael jumped back from the table and practically ran to the open flap, smiling and waving as he backed out. Crazy kid, he thought, scaring people for no good reason.  
  
Looking around he found Jeremiah glowering at his cell. Glancing up he caught Michael’s eye and shoved it into his jean pocket and smiled brightly. "Well," Jeremiah asked. "Any tall dark handsome men in your future?"   
  
"No." Michael smiled, shrugging off the weird experience. It was just some bored woman trying to have a bit of fun with him. That’s all. "Average height, fair, okay looks."  
  
"Who is he?" Jeremiah demanded, kicking the toes of Michael's boot. "I'll kill him."  
  
"Don't be silly. I'm yours." Michael reached out discreetly, brushing his fingers with his knuckles. "You know I only belong to you."   
  
Jeremiah stepped away, pushing his hair behind his ears with a shaky breath.  
  
"What's the--"  
  
"Look!" Jeremiah was off again, long strides leaving him behind. "A house of mirrors. Let's go in."  
  
Michael twisted up his face. "And you thought the psychic lady was lame?"  
  
"Come on, live a little, Michael. Where's your sense of adventure? " Jeremiah brushed at Michael's shoulder, removing the bag. "I'll carry this for a bit. You look like it's breaking your back."  
  
"Oh, no." Michael protested. "You're carrying your own."  
  
"And mine is pretty light!" Jeremiah pretended to falter under the weight as pulled the strap over his shoulder. "I'm glad you brought the bowling balls."  
  
"Haha," Michael said. "You should be on the stage with that wit."  
  
A strange look passed over Jeremiah's face, one Michael had never seen directed at him before. "You're good guy, Mike."  
  
Michael gave half smile. "Er, thanks. You, too? You're swell."  
  
Jeremiah laughed. "I'll pay us in, I'll meet you in."  
  
"Oh, no. I'll wait." Michael stopped at the entrance and smiled at his boyfriend.  
  
Jeremiah gave another irritated look, then smoothed the expression away. "Look, just go inside, Mike. I'll only be a minute."  
  
"But what if I lose you?" Michael pouted. "I know how you get around mirrors." Jeremiah's gaze narrowed. “I was just joking, Jer!”  
  
Jeremiah’s cell began to ring and he retrieved it from his jeans. “It’s my mom, I best take it.” He picked up the call and turned slightly from Michael, speaking in a hushed tone. After a minute he turned, hand over the mouth piece. “Go on in. I’ll just be a bit.” Michael raised his eyebrows. From all accounts Jeremiah’s mother was worse than Michael’s parents.   
  
Jeremiah smiled sadly and shrugged. “Go on in. I'll be right here when you get back.”  
  
 _This fair business was getting old._  Michael thought as he moved through the tent entrace, hands in his pockets and not really paying attention. He quite enjoyed the mirror that made him taller but it wasn’t exactly worth seven dollars entrance fee. Plus, places like this were better with someone along with you, laughing at the weird shapes and pulling faces. Walking in a house of mirrors was just, like, trying to imagine life as Danny De Vito or something.  
  
A footstep to his right made him look up, but he was confronted with his reflection. This was a little eerie, actually. A bit like that awful Kiefer Sutherland movie. Oh, God. Michael began to move faster holding his jaw in place and keeping his eyes on the ground. Nobody was ripping  _his_  face off.  
  
A cough to the left now. What kind of weirdo wandered around this type of thing by themselves. Other than him that was.   
  
“Hey,” Michael called. “Jeremiah?” Of course. He was just trying to freak him out. Well, there was no way that he was sharing an ear piece with him on the bus now. He could get his Pink on some other way. “I’m not scared, Jer,” he teased. “So, don’t even—“  
  
“Now,” a voice hissed and was followed by the sound of hurried feet.   
  
“Wha—“ a hand clamped down over his mouth and he felt his body lift up as an arm encircled his waist.  
  
“Stick him with it now!”  
  
Michael kicked out with his legs and screamed through the palm that was grasping him tight. The hand in his ribs hurt and the scratch of stubble at his ear burned.   
  
“Pretty. He’s pretty”  
  
“Don’t get excited.” A figure stepped forward, a slender Asian man with a pleasant smile. “He doesn’t belong to you.”  
  
Michael thrashed as the man held up a syringe and tapped at its needlepoint, the one at his back roughly pulling up his sleeve.   
  
“Don’t struggle, Michael.” The man grabbed at his arm and pressed the needle in, pushing down the plunger. “It’s better when you don’t struggle. Easier.”  
  
Michael’s limbs grew heavy, sleepy. And his brain gently pushed the river of thoughts away. His father. Jeremiah. New York. They floated away.  
  
“I think,” the man whispered as Michael sagged into his captors arms. “I’ll call him...”  
  


* * *

  
  
“...Blaine,” Kurt grabbed at his shoulder. Thank God! He was waking up. “What happened? Are you okay?”  
  
Blaine sat up with watery eyes and stared at Kurt as if seeing him for the first time. “I remember. I remember everything.”  
  
“Dude!” Finn called. “That’s awesome.”  
  
Blaine shook his head violently. “You don’t understand. The only way I can do that is if they activated the chip.” He turned back to Kurt. “It's Dalton. They’re coming for us.  _They're coming!_ ”


	15. Chapter 15

_Pirates or ninjas. How stupid. It was a dumb question that didn't need to be posed and people always gave dumb answers. They always chose pirates.  
  
Fucking pirates.  
  
So, let's get this straight: you get stuck on a ship, with nothing to eat but salty food and you share some galley or something with your lice-infested scabby cohorts and you sing ridiculous songs, all the while running the risk of storms and other pirates and like... the sea police or what the hell ever they called Norrington. God, why would anyone prefer that stiff elf over a manly guy like Norrington? _  
  
He took a bite of his burger and considered, chewing thoughtfully.  
  
 _But ninjas: you'd sit there with your green tea and your little Hello Kitty sushi pack or something and then get the call and just go and throw those little star things at the bad guys (or if you're the bad guy, at some kid) and boom! Back home in time for dinner and everybody shit scared of you.  
Then again, where did a ninja get their clothes washed? Surely they'd give away their secret identities when--_  Wes's cell began to buzz. Wiping at his mouth, he removed the cell from his jacket and flipped it open.   
  
"Wes," he said, crumbling the wrapper up and throwing it into the backseat, which was fine. It was only a rental car.   
  
"We've got a lock," Thad replied. "On the Anderson kid. I'm sending the co-ordinates through now."   
  
Shit. The little bastard had managed to stay alive for a month?   
  
"Setting?"   
  
"Public. You realise how sensitive that is?" Thad hissed. "If he starts blabbing, all someone has to do is Google his name. Hell, all they'd have to Google is 'Ohio' and we'd be in shit. We need to get to him before then."   
  
"This is why I didn't want to activate the chip just yet. If you had given me a little--"   
  
"More time? Wes, you've been in Lima so long you've grown roots. There's a risk he'll talk, yes, but if you move fast enough we can extinguish that."   
  
Wes's cell beeped to advise the details had arrived. "I understand. Retrieve the package."   
  
"Alive would be good. But I'm not particularly fussy. If Anderson is with others they will need removed from the situation. Do you follow?"   
  
"I follow." Wes twisted the key in the ignition. "I follow."   
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
"This is a really bad idea," Kurt said as Jacob opened the door and revealed his off-white underpants. "You couldn't have put on a bathrobe?”  
  
"Rachel Berry! Rachel Berry!" The door slammed shut. Muffled now: "Rachel Berry!"   
  
"That happen to you a lot?" Kurt asked.   
  
Rachel frowned and knocked on the door again, delivering three sharp knocks.   
  
"This is insane," Finn said. "We shouldn't be stopping like this! We should keep moving."   
  
"Finn's right, Rachel. We should go straight to the police. I remember now. I can tell them." Blaine said, clinging to Finn's shoulder for support. "I could-- I could call my father."   
  
"I already told you why we can't do that." Rachel sighed, knocking again. "We need as many people to know as we can before we go to the police. Think of it as prot--" The door opened, this time showing Jacob in a purple, fur-trimmed bathrobe, a pipe in one hand.   
  
"Ms. Berry." He puffed on the tip. "What brings you to my humble abode?"   
  
Oh, God. thought Kurt. This was a really, really bad idea.   
  


* * *

  
  
Twenty minutes. That's all it would take until the little shit was caught. Wes watched the dot pulse on the screen. Wherever he was, he sure as hell wasn't moving. Well, his legs weren't. Wes didn't like the thought that his lips were flapping to anyone in the vicinity.   
  
That chip! That damn chip. He should have never have been released until they had ironed out the kinks in the thing. They'd have to recall the entire batch after this. Wes had warned them, fought with his superiors again and again about what the lab had said about the tracking chip.  _Activate it, and you're gonna short circuit the memory repressor chip_.  
  
They'd told him to stop playing Cassandra. Nobody escaped, they said. They'd been doing this for years, and if they had to activate the chip, the problem would be solved within minutes. No problem.  
  
But Dalton wasn't as mighty as it once was. Dalton couldn't waste months -- hell, years -- developing new technology and testing and testing it. Of course, Dalton was good at delusions of grandeur.   
  
"Pirates to my fucking ninja," he muttered, glaring at the pulsing dot. It was time to close the Anderson case.  
  


* * *

  
  
Kurt gave Blaine a gentle smile as they sat on Jacob's bed, trying to reassure his friend. With a flourish, Jacob showed them the camera, frowned at the lack of reaction and and then placed it on the tripod.   
  
"Are you okay?" Kurt asked, shifting a little and trying not to freak out when he realised that the sheet beneath his thighs was a tad stiff.  
  
 _Don't think about. Don't think about. Don't think-- was that Rachel's picture on the ceiling?_  
  
"Honestly?" Blaine replied, cutting into his thoughts. "I have no damn clue. I just-- It's everything I have wanted for so long and yet-- I've lost something too. I-- I don't know how to explain it. I had a place before. As much as I hated it, I knew it was my fault and now it's just replaced with-- with--"   
  
"Anger?" Kurt nodded, watching Jacob checking the connection to computer. “I can understand that, Blaine. You’ve been through so much!” Kurt flexed his fingers in front of him in a nervous flutter. “But this is it! It’s all over. Just this final step and you can go home.”  
  
 _God help him_ , Kurt thought. He should not feel a stab of regret at that thought. Blaine was going back to where he belonged. What Kurt felt meant nothing. It was selfish to want anything more from him. He had already gave so much.  
  
"Okay," Jacob called out and everyone looked to him. With a wide grin he turned to Rachel. "It's all set. Can I see them now?"   
  
"One. We agreed on one, Jacob. And not until you deliver. I already let you smell my hair."   
  
"One what?" Finn frowned as Rachel blushed and looked away. "What's Israel seeing?"   
  
"Rachel's boob. Well, side boob! As payment for my support and technological know how." Jacob rose to his full height. "We shook on it."   
  
"What? No way! No fricken’ way is that happening!" Finn moved in front of her. "Just help us because you're a decent person! This isn't a game, Israel. This is serious."   
  
"And this can get me into a lot of trouble. If I go to prison I won't last five minutes in those showers, with these baby-faced looks! I need a little  _ohh_  to get me through my nights." His hand hovered over the connecting cable. "Unless you don't really  _need_  my help, that is--"   
  
"Finn," Rachel murmured. "Let's just get this over with."   
  
"No! How is this any different from what people do to Blaine? Using him?" Finn shouted. "She's not doing it!"   
  
"Finn, your concern is touching and thank you, but I'm not helpless because I'm a woman and-- and besides, it's  _my_  body," she ignored Jacob's moan, and moved past Finn towards the bed, "and right now we don't have the time to debate this."   
  
Kurt turned round to face her, his grateful face changing into one of confusion. "Rachel, what you are doing?"   
  
"Setting the scene!" She fluffed a pillow. "This-- this pillow smells like bleach--"   
  
"Don't smell it! Just drop it and step away." Finn crossed and grabbed her by the wrist, dragging her away. "Just-- don't touch _anything_  in here."   
  
"Are you sure this will work?" Kurt asked as Jacob took his place behind the camera. "Will it stream?"   
  
"Of course," Jacob scoffed. "It'll be a few minutes behind and not my greatest quality but it'll get the job done." He looked over at them. "Maybe you should lose the shirts?"   
  
"Wha--what?" Blaine asked, his brows high.  
  
"Do-- do you know any girl bond-servants that maybe need the shelter and protection of an internationally famous blogger?" Jacob smoothed over his head with a sweaty palm. "I'm a pretty big deal."   
  
"Oh, my God." Kurt stood up, rolling his eyes. He wanted to tear the little freak into nice neat piles but they needed him. Swallowing down the insult he moved behind the camera and smiled at Blaine.   
  
Showtime.   
  


* * *

  
Mercedes glared at the television screen. That horrible Angelea was strutting around on  _America's Next Top Model_ , thinking she owned the place already.  
  
"Smize!" insisted Tyra.  
  
"She isn't going to smize," muttered Mercedes, "the feral bitch can't even stop giving you evils, Tyra! She needs a wash--"   
  
She was interrupted in her diatribe by her cell ringing. She paused the programme and smirked at Miss J caught mid-turn on the catwalk, then flipped open her cell. "What -- oh, hey, Kurt! I've hardly seen you the last couple weeks..."  
  
"I know, I'm sorry--"  
  
"Where've you been? And do you know what Santana did to Shue yesterday?"  
  
"No, but I don't have time!"  
  
"It was hilarious! First, she--"  
  
"Mercedes! I don't have time! I need you to get online, now!"  
  
"I'm not chatting now, get lost. Angelea's totally going tonight."  
  
"You leave my Angelea alone! She tells it like it is!" said Kurt. He paused. "But that can wait. I need you to get online now! Will you do it?"  
  
"Yeah, hold up," sighed Mercedes. She picked her laptop up off the couch and switched it on. "I was trying to stay offline in case of spoilers, but if you're quick, it's okay."  
  
"Okay. Merc, I need you to click on a link I'm going to send you," Kurt swallowed thickly down the line. "And I need you to forward this to everyone you know. This is the most important favour I will ever ask you."   
  
"What-"  
  
Kurt cut her off. "I can't go into it. Please, I am begging you. I need your help."   
  
Mercedes tightened her grip on her cell, and reached for the remote with her other hand. She gave one last regretful look at Miss J, then switched the television off. "Whatever you need, Kurt. I'm here. I'm always here for you."   
  


* * *

  
  
Quinn combed her hair with a sigh. She hadn't heard from Finn in an entire day. She just knew he was with Rachel again. What did he even see in her? She was as short as she was loud. And that clumsy gait! Did she get up early to perfect that dumb stumble of hers? It shouldn't be such a tough decision for him, he either wanted to be with her or not. She was getting tired of being the one to do all the chasing.   
  
Her cell beeped and she flung the brush onto her dresser. About time!   
  


> _To: Quinn  
>  From: Rachel Berry_
> 
> _Dearest Quinn, I know that we have our differences, but I need you to put our checkered past aside for one moment to do me this small task. I wouldn’t ask but this is important. Please watch the link attached and forward to everyone in your phonebook. Please, Quinn!! Xx_

  
  
Rachel? Rachel was asking  _her_  for a favour. She was unbelievable. Well, no. Quinn wasn't going to vote for her in some sort of online  _American Idol_  fix or whatever. Rachel Berry could just go whistle.   
  
There was no way Quinn was clicking that link. At all.   
  


* * *

  
  
"Shove it!" snarled Puck. "Go, hot pixie girl, go!"  
  
Man, this level sucked. He was sick of fighting off nerds who kept destroying his hot pixie girl with special spells. If he ever found out who the hell these kids were, he'd find them in school and throw them all in the dumpsters. And if they were already on his dumpster list, he'd throw them in twice. Hitting girls like that! They should be ashamed.   
  
He sent the pixie girl on a dragon and descended down to the lower levels where all the newbies were playing and decided to wreak havoc there.   
  
"Sorry, it's karma!" he sighed as he exploded a dwarf and punched a wizard in the face. He destroyed a party of dorks with one wave of his hand and then rifled through their pockets for some goodies while the players sent him death threats in capslock.   
  
Man, this was the best way to relax.   
  
His cellphone beeped. He picked it up and flicked to the messages screen, continuing his pixie onslaught with one hand as he read the message.   
  


> _To: Puck  
>  From: Finn _
> 
> _Watch this. It's porn._

  
  
Puck shrugged, why not. The house was free. It better not involve a cup again, though. He'd had to switch that off after four minutes. For a dude that never got any, Hudson sure was freaky.   
  


* * *

  
  
Artie put down his book and read the new message on his cell.   
  


> _To Artie:  
>  From Mercedes: Everyone, Kurt wants us all to watch this link. Forward it on to-_

  
  
_Ergh_ , Artie thought as he deleted it. He hated chain texts.   
  


* * *

  
  
"Lima Spring Police Station," Maurice the desk sergeant greeted gruffly.   
  
"Is that the police?" A female voice gasped, breathless and dramatic.  _Perverts_ , he thought. At least one a day. "I need you to listen to me, and listen closely. I am about to give you the case that will make headlines across the world. That will go down in history. And you can be a part of it all."   
  
"Don't tell me," Maurice sighed turning a page in his book. "You found Amelia Earhart."   
  
"I don't watch cartoons," the voice faltered and then took on a dramatic air. "Heed me and heed me well, you--"   
  
"Heed?" Another voice interrupted in the background. "Did you seriously just say heed?"   
  
"Shh!" she hissed. "Now, where was I?"   
  
"I was heeding you. Heeding you well." Oh, Lord. He could not wait until this shift was over. "Why don't you just tell me what the matter is, sweetheart? Wasting police time is a crime, you know."   
  
"So is kidnap! So is  _rape_!”  
  
Maurice blinked at that. "I think you need to tell me what's going on here, Ma'am."   
  
"Do you have a pen and paper?"   
  
He answered in the affirmative and clicked the pen several times. “Shoot.”  
  
The woman quickly snapped out a web address, checking it with him three times before she was satisfied. "Five minutes. Be on that link in five minutes. Trust me. It is imperative that you are watching that. It could be the most important decis--"   
  
"Rachel!" A voice snapped in the background. "Just get on with it!"   
  
"Don't use my name, Kurt!" she hissed. "Okay, I need to go. I have several news stations to contact." She clicked off.   
  
Maurice stared at the telephone in his hand. God, he hated the holidays. Goddamn college kids.  
  


* * *

  
  
Mercedes tapped at her desk impatiently as she waited for the page to load. This had better not be another puppet show of  _My Pal Joey_  with Finn's action figures. That had been torture. But, no, Kurt had sounded sincere. Kurt had sounded, well,  _scared_. And that unnerved her more than she cared to admit.   
  
The video began to buffer and an image filled the screen. A handsome dark-haired boy was sat on the bed, looking into the camera with wide, tormented eyes.   
  
She shivered involuntarily.  
  


* * *

  
  
Quinn frowned at the laptop screen. Who the hell was he? Oh, God. This was going to lead into a duet wasn't it? Rachel was going to drop from the ceiling with maracas and-- she squinted. Why was he shaking like that? He looked terrified.   
  
She wondered if it were one of those military kidnap videos like that asshole Puck had tricked her into watching that time. Her hand hovered over the button to close the window at the first sign of a threatening shadow.  
  


* * *

  
  
Puck closed the curtains with a flourish and tossed the box of tissues into his other hand. Man, Puckzilla hadn't had a work out since-- oh, this morning. That had been  _awesome._  
  
Jumping on his bed, and making his laptop wobble, Puck hurriedly pulled his briefs down.  _Hudson, this better bring it._  
  
Staring at the screen his grin of excitement faded. What the fuck? Who the fuck was that guy? Oh, no way. Was this gay porn? He'd kill Hudson! He'd already sent that text to the football team!   
  
Shaking his head, he encircled his cock with his fingers and gave a rough, experimental tug.   
  
It better be hot gay porn or he was going to be pissed.   
  


* * *

  
  
Officer James emptied the last of his tea down his throat, as the window on the computer buffered and groaned.   
  
Always with the utterly lame jobs. Give him a car chase, or a bomb scare any day. What was this? Some college prank where some fraternity wannabe lit a fart to a soundtrack of morons? He'd dropped out of a law degree for this? You shoot one geriatric cat lady by accident and you were chained to your desk forever. It wasn't even like she wouldn't have needed a new hip, anyway.   
  
Finally a kid loaded up, licking his lips and scratching at the back of his neck. "Er--" The boy looked off camera and a voice whispered what James guessed to be encouragement. "My name is..."   
  


* * *

  
  
"...Michael Anderson," he swallowed heavily and squeezed his eyes shut. "And I am a bond-servant."   
  
Kurt gasped as fingers closed around his, clenching tightly. Rachel smiled up at him and gave a slight nod. Another hand gripped his shoulder tightly and this time it was Finn providing the comfort.   
  
"Don't worry," Finn whispered. "He'll be fine."   
  
Kurt didn't answer, merely kept his eyes to Blaine- no,  _Michael_ \- as he began his tale. Oh, God. He was so strong, so beautiful. Kurt couldn't bear the thought of him being hurt again, the thought of Dalton taking him. Kurt would die before he let that happen.   
  
He hoped this work. He hoped that they hadn't blown their last chance to escape.   
  


* * *

  
  
James blinked as he listened to the Anderson kid's words. This was a hoax. It had to be. Some sort of anti bond-servant type protest. Like that movie with Kevin Spacey! Not the one with the hot cheerleader. The one with the key and the toy and what the hell, he'd type in the kid's name.   
  
Opening another window he did a search on the name Michael Anderson, throwing in a 'missing'. Just to see. In the other tab the kid continued to talk. About Dalton, and chips and things-- Things that made James feel a little sick to his stomach. If this was a joke than it was in pretty bad taste and--   
  
 _About 476,000 results (0.24 seconds)_  
  
James's mouth ran dry as his curser hovered over the article entitled  _MISSOURI TEEN MISSING._    
  
The screen loaded with a smiling boy in school uniform. A  _familiar_  looking boy.   
  
Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck.   
  
Removing an ear bud from his ear, he turned to his colleagues behind. They cut off mid sentence on seeing his face. "The Chief. Get the goddamn Chief!"   
  


* * *

  
  
Rachel moved to Jacob's window, Blaine's words impossible to escape. Tears pooled in her eyes and she blinked them back. They weren't enough, could never be enough.   
  
Hands slipped over her shoulder and Finn rested his chin against her hair. "Are you okay?" he murmured.   
  
"No," she turned to him and took his hands into hers. "I'm really not. But what right do I have to be sad when--" She swallowed thickly. "What if I'm wrong? What if this doesn't work?"   
  
"Shh, don't--"   
  
"How can I not, Finn? Listen to him. Listen to what they did. What if it doesn't get out What if they say it was just an internet prank?" Rachel looked at Kurt, at his ashen face filled with fear and love. "What if they come and take both of them, then put us out of the picture?"   
  
"They can't!" Finn insisted in an urgent whisper. "Everyone would know. And even if your plan doesn't work we got through to our friends. People will know!" His jaw hardened. "I won't let them take either of them. Trust me." He smoothed a stray hair away from her forehead. "And I would never let them hurt you."   
  
Despite everything, despite the horrible situation and the possibly bleak future, Rachel felt a smile spread across her face, so wide she could feel the strain. "Really?"   
  
"Yeah," Finn said with a soft nod. "I love you, Rachel." He looked away with a pained expression. "And I don't care what we promised Jacob. He isn't seeing your side boob."   
  
"Oh, Finn!" She gasped, flinging her arms around him and hugging him tight. "I'm so gla--"   
  
"Rachel!" he hissed. "Look!"  
  
Frowning, she broke free and followed his stare out of the window. "Oh, my--"   
  
"News vans! Rachel! News vans! And that's Channel 6!" Finn laughed. "I can't believe they got here so quickly!"   
  
"Yes," Rachel nodded. "News travels fast."   
  
Finn blinked.   
  
"That was a solid joke! Come on!'   
  


* * *

  
  
"--And now I'm here. Talking to..." Blaine motioned at the camera with a pained grin," someone. I hope. Anyone. I just--" Blaine bit at his lip, and it was clear he was holding back a sob. "I just want to go home. I want to see my dad," Blaine's voice cracked. "I just-- I just want this to stop. Please." He covered his face with his hands and began to cry softly.  
  
"That's enough," Kurt whispered to Jacob. "You can stop streaming now."   
  
"I'm the director! I say cut!" Jacob withered under Kurt's glare. "Okay, yeah. Cut!" He flicked the switch off and nodded. "It's off."   
  
"Blaine?" Kurt moved beside him and flung an arm round his shoulders. "It's over. It's over, okay? No one is going to send you back."   
  
Blaine wiped at his eyes with a bitter laugh. "Don't make promises you can't keep, Kurt." He wiped at his face with the heel of his palm. "Don't do that."   
  
"Okay," Kurt nodded thoughtfully. "How about one I can keep?" He slipped his hand over Blaine's. "I'm going to be here for you. I'm going to fight with everything I have to keep you safe. They can't-- They wouldn't  _dare_  touch us."   
  
"Kurt--" Blaine's hand came and rested against his cheek. "I-- I--" He shook his head with a laugh and closed the distance, pressing his lips to Kurt's.   
  
 _Oh._  
  
For a moment Kurt didn't move, his eyes still open. Blaine was kissing him. Blaine wanted him. This wasn't about debts or pity. Blaine actually  _wanted_  him. Kurt closed his eyes and pressed into the kiss, his hand cupping at the back of Blaine's head. Blaine’s tongue licked across his bottom lip and Kurt moaned and deepened his hold into Blaine’s hair. Kurt could feel his skin flushing and the pounding in his chest.  _It had never been like this with Dave._  Kurt felt instantly shamed at the thought and pushed it away. Pushed everything away. Until there was only Blaine.  
  
All too soon Blaine was breaking the kiss. "Kurt," he gasped.  
  
"Yes," Kurt's voice came out huskier than intended. "I mean, yeah?"   
  
"That boy is looking at us and rubbing his pants."   
  
"Oh, Jacob! For goodness' sake!"   
  


* * *

  
  
No, no, no! This couldn’t be happening. Wes cursed as he turned onto Lemur Drive and saw the van on the driveway.  _Channel 6? Channel fucking 6?_  
  
This was a disaster! This was a fucking unmitigated shit storm.  
  
How the hell was he supposed to extract Anderson on live television?   
  
 _Okay, maybe someone was having a yard sale. Something like that. It didn't have to be related. A kitten was stuck in a tree with Kim Kardashian._  
  
He glanced down at the co-ordinates. They disagreed.   
  
Watching the crew climb out the back of the van, and run up to the door, Wes picked up the cell. It was ringing before it even touched his ear. "We have a problem,” he said in way of hello. Quickly, as his car slowly approached the news team, Wes filled Thad in on the problem in question.   
  
"Are you telling me that you were out smarted by a fuck toy with no pants?" The voice distorted in its volume.   
  
"I told you it was too soon for the chip--"   
  
"Don't even try to to throw this out of your crib, Wes. I don't even know how we can prepare damage control for this. I will need to get legal down here. Jesus, we are going to have to shred everything!"   
  
"Wait. Wait. Let me think." Wes was passing the house now and he could feel the physical pull. "Give me a chance to put out this fire."   
  
"You've had enough chances, Wes." Thad all but growled. "I need to concentrate on how to fix this before it gets any worse. A thing like this can drag us the fuck under."   
  
"Maybe he hasn't told them yet? Maybe--"   
  
"Maybes mean nothing to me. Forget the extraction. Get back here. First plane you can find." Wes could hear the chaos in the background. "Bring a shovel. You are digging us out of this mess. And then-- Then I think we need to discuss your career here at Dalton."   
  
"But the Hummel kid--"   
  
"Let me worry about that. Just get on the plane, Wes." He ended the call, with a thud the cell hit the floor. Pulling over he stared ahead, thoughts racing.   
  
Discuss Wes' career? Like he didn't know that involved a hole of six feet and no marker. He wiped a sweaty palm onto his thighs. He could run. He could just hit the gas and get the hell out.  
  
Wes turned over his wrist and stared down at the faded green lines running over his skin. Thinking of the chip that lay beneath.  
  
No. He couldn’t run.  
  
But he still had time. He could fix this. Just needed to put out the fires is all, Anderson and Hummel.   
  
An idea flickered into life. He flipped open the glove compartment and wrapped his fingers around the Colt.45.   
  
Fire.   
  
Now  _there_  was an idea.


	16. Chapter 16

Rachel grinned up at Finn, as Kurt broke away from Blaine.  _Finally!_  
  
"I thought that would never happen," she whispered to Finn. "I really don't know what was stopping them."  
  
"I guess-- I guess if it was easy it wouldn't be worth it." He grasped her hand. "Like, love, I mean."  
  
"I know." She beamed. "And I just want you to know, that I feel the same. I--" Her words were cut off by the ringing of the doorbell. "The reporters!"  
  
"I'll handle this!" Jacob practically bounced to the door. "Would it be too tacky to plug my video blog on the greatest glamour calendars of the decade?."   
  
"Wait!" Rachel let go of Finn's hand and blocked him. "I really think it should be me, don't you? I'm more involved and  _prepared_ for the stress of live television."  
  
"But it's my house!"  
  
"And we thank you for the loan of your set, but this is really something that needs handled with care, flawless diction and glossy hair. Poise and grace. Plus--"  
  
"Why don't you both go?" Kurt snapped, rubbing at the cut on the back of his head. "This isn't an audition for ‎Mimi Marquez. Let's just get it over with."  
  
 _Well, now really?_  thought Rachel.  _You'd think getting the boy would relax Kurt but no. Fine. She'd share her limelight. Why not? That was exactly the magnanimous kind of person she was_. With a grudging nod, she let Jacob by -- she'd learned from bitter experience not to let him walk behind -- and marched from the room with her nose aloft.  
  
"Hold on, Jacob!” she said as they reached the bottom step. “I just need to—“  
  
He paused with his hand on the door knob and his eyes on her chest. “What?”  
  
Taking a deep breath, Rachel fluffed at her hair in the hallway mirror. "Oh, my gosh!" She gasped, hand to forehead. No, too much. She gasped again and tried to convey as much anguish, pain, confusion and relief into one expression as possible. If Barbra could do it, so could Rachel Berry!  
  
"I've seen this advert." Jacob nasally said to her reflection. "Should I call the national stroke hotline?"  
  
"Jacob, could you--" Rachel made a shooing motion, leaving only herself in the mirror. "That's better."  
  
"What are you doing?"  
  
"We need the viewers at home to know how to feel when we tell our story. I'm simply telling our tale through my doe-like eyes."  
  
"But-- what's with all the grinning?" Jacob shuffled his feet. “It’s... kinda creepy.”  
  
"I want them to warm to me first."   
  
"Don't you think--" A shatter from behind him drew his attention. "What was that?"  
  
"Your parents?" Rachel asked, looking around him. "Are they home?"  
  
"No, just me." Jacob frowned. "They aren't due back for another hour. And my sister is staying with a friend." He began to move. "It came from the kitchen."  
  
"Jacob!" Rachel hissed. "Wait, we'll go get Finn."  
  
Jacob turned with one barely visible eyebrow raised. "Finn?" He straightened his shoulders. "I think I can handle this myself, _baby."_  
  
"Jacob!"   
  
He ignored her and moved into the other room, his hips swaggering and chin held high.   
  
"Come back!" Rachel waited a moment, her fingers tapping against her lips. A moment. Another. It must have been nothing. A cup hanging haphazardly on a mug tree had decided to take a dive at that precise moment, that was all.  
  
 _Jacob’s fine_ , Rachel thought as she began to make her way to the kitchen.  _There’s nothing to worry about._  
  
As she approached the threshold, she heard a whoosh of air, followed by a small groan and a thud. Rachel halted, Jacob's name on her tongue.  _Wait. You don’t know what’s in there._  Instead, she grabbed at either side of the frame and eased her head slowly around the door.   
  
Jacob had indeed fallen. But if the collection of blood spreading across his chest was any indication, he'd had help. Rachel's nails dug into the wood as she looked into his face that was turned towards her, as she stared into Jacob's blank eyes. He was dead.  _He was dead._  
  
A man was stretched over him, thin in face and small in body. His lips were pursed and his eyebrows crushed together in irritation. In his hand a gun gleamed dully, a strange contraption on the end. A silencer, Rachel realised. She recognised it from Finn's action movies. "Will they check-- They'll check. The bullet. The bullet." The man muttered. "It'll have to be hot." He stood up, took a fuel container and began to empty the container liquid over Jacob. "Mess just keeps growing."  
  
A smell hit the air and curled around Rachel, almost making her gag in realization. Gasoline!  
  
She had to move. She had to do something. Rachel stepped backwards slowly, biting down the scream in her throat. She'd never make it upstairs to the others, but she could to the door. She could make that. She could--  
  
A floorboard creaked under her heel. The killer snapped his gaze towards her.  
  
 _Oh, no._  
  
 _Scream, Rachel. Warn them!_  But her vocal chords were clamped in fear. She could only shake her head in terror as he stepped over the body and walked towards her. The barrel was to her chest.  
  
"I'm sorry," the man said, with a weary shrug. "I'm having a _really_ bad day."  
  
Funny. She always thought her death would be more glamorous, a la  _Dark Victory._  But there was no graceful fade to black. No swell of music from Henry Mancini or even Hans Zimmer as the camera panned across her face, frozen in shock.   
  
Her head throbbed. She blinked against the pain crashing through her, the pounding of her own heartbeat in her ears. There was no time for a pithy last line, no energy to arrange herself like the dying swan on the kitchen floor. She sank onto the cold tiles and surrendered.   
  


* * *

  
  
Kurt wanted to climb up and Jacob's bed and bounce, for like, an hour. He wanted to throw Finn from the room and kiss Blaine for even longer. He wanted to hire a sky writer and firework display.   
  
But he had other things to do first, like prepare Blaine for the curious intensity of the media, for the pain and confusion that was sure to come. It had to have worked,  _it had to_. Every ten seconds, another text was coming through on his cell from another concerned friend, distressed at what they had seen. The information was out. Dalton couldn't stop it.  
  
"They're still there," Finn said, looking from the window with a frown. "The reporters. There's more vans as well."  
  
"Oh, God," Kurt sighed, playing with Blaine's fingers idly. "She's probably flossing."  
  
"Should I go see what's taking them?" Finn asked, moving to the door. "We don't want them getting bored and, like, wandering off to report on a fete."  
  
"Somehow I think they'll wait. We gave them this address. They know we must be in here. And--" Kurt cut off as Blaine made his way across the room, and looking out the window.  
  
"There he is!" A voice called from below. "Michael! Michael"  
  
"Yeah, that oughta do it." Kurt smiled as Blaine jumped back in surprise. "Hey, it's okay," he soothed as he rose. "We're here. I'm here."  
  
"I know," Blaine smiled widely. "It's so weird. It's been so long since I felt--" he placed a palm to his chest. "Anything! And now I'm feeling  _everything_." He bowed his head. "It's a little over whelming."  
  
Kurt looked away, his face flushing red. What were they to each other now? Did the kiss mean as much as he had thought? Because it had felt like everything. What if it were just an overreaction on the part of Blaine? What if he went around kissing every person like that now, to make up for what he’d missed, or out of sheer love for humanity?  _Stupid humanity_ , he thought sulkily.   
  
"Thank you, Kurt." Blaine took his hands into his own, his eyes dark and probing. "You saved me. Do you know that? You saved me."   
  
"No, I didn't I--"  
  
"I love you." The words were said so simply that for a moment Kurt carried on protesting, not registering the significance of what he was saying. "I love you."  
  
"Blaine, I--" Kurt couldn't stop the ridiculous grin spreading across his face. A voice inside warned caution, expressed doubt. A voice told him not to be so hasty; it told him that Blaine was confused. Frankly? That voice could go fuck itself. "I love you, too."  
  
"Guys?" Finn asked, hand raised. He gave a little wave as they turned to face him. "Just in case you two get carried away..."  
  
"Chance would be a fine thing," Kurt muttered rolling his eyes, but the squeeze from Blaine's hands made his smile break out again. It was over. It was really over.  
  
And now he had Blaine.  
  
The door behind them creaked. "It's about time!" Kurt said turning. "I thought you wanted to talk--" Neither Rachel nor Jacob stood in the doorway, but a slim man with a gun in his hands. A gun that was pointing right at them. Kurt opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. He heard Blaine's gasp behind him, and his stomach twisted at the fear he heard in it.  
  
"Kurt Hummel?" The man said. "I don't believe it!" He laughed and scratched at his head with the palm holding the gun. "Finally! A bit of luck." His eyes narrowed at their joined hands, and then his lips slipped into a soft cruel grin.  
  
"What the hell, man?" Finn demanded, blocking Kurt. His voice betrayed him, a tremor running through the words. "Who are you?"  
  
"His name is Wes," Blaine whispered. "He was the one that took me. The one that sold me."  
  
"And Blaine makes three." Wes smiled and Kurt was surprised to see it matched his eyes. Wes was delighted. "Do you know how much trouble you've been? What a nuisance you are to your masters?"  
  
"You don't own him!" Kurt let go of Blaine's hands and moved past Finn, ignoring the attempted grab at his arm. "He isn't a piece of meat!"  
  
Wes raised an eyebrow and glanced at Blaine. "You  _have_  been busy, haven't you?" The gun found Kurt's face. "You always did make friends easily."  
  
"No!" Blaine was moving, hands raised. "I'll come back. I'll come back! Just please, don't hurt him."   
  
"Blaine! No, I won't let you!" Kurt said, a crack in his voice. "The police are on the way, reporters are lining the steps. Do you really think you'll get out of here with him?"  
  
Wes shrugged and produced his other arm from behind him. "I don't, no. That's why he isn't leaving. None of you are." Kurt's heart sank as his saw the gasoline can and he took a shaky step backward, his back colliding with Finn's front. "I need to make this go away, you see. I'm not happy about it. It's messy, but Dalton can cover this after I tie up the loose ends." Wes nodded as if to himself. "They'll understand. They'll let me come back."  
  
"Wes," Kurt said in a soothing voice. "This won't fix things. A fire after everything people heard Blaine say." Kurt pointed. "A deliberate fire? They'll know, Wes." The other man frowned and Kurt pressed on. "Maybe you should go, run! Before all this crashes down on you. Let Dalton deal with it."  
  
Wes shook his head sadly. "I can't." He held up the gun so his wrist faced them. "I'm chipped, too. And unlike him," Wes indicated to Blaine. "I don't have one in my head that malfunctions when you activate the other. They won't have any worries about finding me."  
  
"So?" Finn snapped. "Cut off your hand! Get surgery. Whatever. Just don't drag us down to save your sorry ass. This is murder!"  
  
"Cut off my---?" Wes laughed loudly. "No. I don't think so. I need to to just clean up. That's all." He nodded. "They'll take me back."  
  
Downstairs reporters continued to bang at the door, and Kurt wished that Rachel...  
  
Wait.  _Rachel._  
  
Finn seemed to realise at the same time. "The others. They were downstairs."  
  
Wes considered Finn for the first time. "They were." He shook his head. " _Were_."  
  
"No, no." Finn wavered. "You didn't, she's fine... you didn't hurt her," he stammered. Liquid pooled in his eyes. "Tell me you didn't hurt her!"   
  
"Finn--" Kurt made to stop him but he was striding across the room towards Wes. "Finn!"  
  
"I'll kill you if you have, I'll kill you if--"  
  
"She's dead." Wes' voice was almost kind and the words held Finn still. "So is the other boy. And Dave." Wes turned to Blaine. "Do you see what you've done? See the pain you've caused?"   
  
"No, I didn't mean--" Blaine grasped at his face. "I didn't mean--"  
  
Kurt hugged himself tight at seeing the pain play out on Blaine's face. Rachel was gone. Rachel. And Jacob and-- _Dave._ That hurt more than he expected.  
  
"But you did. Now all those people? Gone because of you." Wes' face was saddened. "Don't you realise what you di--"  
  
"You son of a bitch!" Finn was charging now, his face unrecognisable in his rage. "You goddamn son of a--" A gasp of air and Finn came to a shuddering stop.   
  
"No!" Kurt held his hands out as if to ward off the reality. "No!"  
  
Finn pressed a hand to his side and raised it to his face in shock. It gleamed red. "You shot me?"  
  
"I did. Now sit down before I make it fatal." Finn complied, falling rather than sitting. Kurt was running to at his side instantly but Wes grabbed him roughly at his scalp, dragging him backwards towards him. Kurt hissed in pain as the gun pressed deep into his ribs. "Ah, no. You stay with me." Wes dipped his head into the crook of Kurt's shoulder. "Maybe you don't burn? It seems a waste. Especially since Blaine here has shown you what to do." Wes rolled his hips. "How to  _move_."  
  
"Let him go!" Blaine's voice sounded uneven and weak, he had to strain to be heard over Finn's tortured moans and Kurt's panicked breath. "Please! Don't hurt him!"  
  
Kurt stiffened as he felt Wes' mouth against the crown of his head, the lips curving into a smile. "Okay, okay." Wes threw the can, Blaine catching it with a winded gasp. "Pour that over yourself. And the kid."  
  
"What? I can't--" Blaine shook his head. "You can't ask me--" He looked down at Finn who was becoming paler with each passing second. "I can't!"  
  
"Oh?" Wes pulled Kurt even tighter. "I can hurt him. I can make it slow. And you can have a front row seat. Would you like that?"  
  
Blaine looked down at the can in his hands and then into Kurt's face.  
  
"Don't. Don't you dare, Blaine."  
  
"I'm sorry, Kurt. I'm so sorry." He held the can high above him, and emptied the liquid over himself, spluttering as some entered his mouth.  
  
"You didn't save any for the BFG," Wes said dryly. "Kurt, reach backwards. I need you to get something from my pocket."  
  
"Fuck you!" Kurt snapped, unable to tear his eyes from Blaine. Finn's moans filling his mind.   
  
Wes dug the gun in further, so hard and painful it took Kurt's breath away. "Do you want the kid bleeding out all over the floor to go from possibility to certainty?" At Kurt's violent shake of his head, Wes laughed. "Then do what I asked, Princess."  
  
Gingerly, Kurt reached back, dipping his fingers deep into Wes' pocket. Clasping around the cold metal.  
  
A lighter.  
  
Blaine trembled as he watched them, the liquid staining his clothes, and shining in his hair. "Please. Please don't hurt him. It's me you're angry with."  
  
"You're right." Wes nodded. "Let's see if you're so keen when he lights up."  
  
"No! I won't!" Kurt struggled, the lighter's steel biting into his palm. "I won't!"  
  
"He's nice," Wes said against Kurt's hair as if he hadn't spoken. "I'm sure he'll be popular. Maybe I'll break him in myself." He chuckled. "Like I did you."  
  
It was the anguish in Blaine's face that did it. The pain in his eyes seemed to explode in Kurt's gut and flow through his body in blind white rage. Kurt butted his head backward, hearing the satisfying crack of Wes' nose. Digging both elbows backward he crushed them in to Wes' stomach and span round, attacking with everything he had. Dimly, he heard a cry of pain and the thud of the gun hitting the floor. At some point he dropped the lighter, too. But Kurt didn't stop. Couldn't stop.  
  
Didn't stop when Wes doubled in pain, didn't stop when he heard his own hand crack at the force of his knuckles into Wes' chest. Didn't stop when Wes stumbled backwards, over Finn's prone frame. Didn't stop when Wes hit the floor with a painful sounding clash, his head lolling to one side.   
  
He couldn't stop. Wes was the embodiment of all the pain Blaine had endured. He had taken Rachel, Jacob, hurt Finn.  
  
Killed Dave.  
  
The fight left Kurt. It was all too much, the weight of everything that had led up to this point. He slumped backwards, arms catching him easily.   
  
"Kurt," Blaine began tentatively, “come on. Come on." He tugged at Kurt's arm, pulling him up, and encircling him tight. "We have to get out of here. We have to get Finn some help."  
  
"Rachel," Kurt moaned into Blaine's shoulder. "He said--"  
  
"We can't, Kurt. I know it hurts. We have to move, we--" Blaine gasped and bucked backwards. Kurt's eyes widened at seeing Wes curl himself round Blaine's calf tight.  
  
Groaned as he saw the small silver item clutched in Wes' hand. At the tiny sliver of flame that was close to Blaine's leg. Too close.  
  
"No," Kurt shook his head, a scream cresting in his throat. "No!"  
  
Finn's leg flew through the air and made contact. A sound of bones snapping and a shriek from Wes, as the lighter flew through the air. It landed squarely on the hem of his trousers.  
  
The trousers that he had doused in gasoline. And the lighter landed lit.  
  
"Jesus," Kurt moaned as fire spread up the man's legs and swathed his clothes. "We have to-- We have to--"  
  
"We can't do anything!" Blaine shouted, keeping back from the blaze. "We have to get out!"  
  
The flame spread through the room at a terrifying pace. "Quick, help me!" Blaine hefted a groggy Finn to his feet, with a moan he flung an arm round the smaller boy's shoulders. Kurt moved quickly to his other side. Keeping his eyes from the inferno that was now Wes. Trying to block his ears to the dying man's screams.  
  
The trio stumbled down the stairs, the fire licking it's way along their path. Kurt could feel the panic rising dangerously close to the surface as they made their way towards the porch. Just a bit more. Just a bit more.  
  
"Kurt!" Blaine shouted as they reached the door. "Rachel. Jacob! I can't leave them."  
  
"No!" Kurt yelled back. "The fire! It's spreading, it's--"  
  
"I can't leave them!" Blaine shook his head and spoke words unheard but understood. "I can't"  
  
Kurt opened his mouth to protest but Blaine's lips pressed to his, so hard it hurt and then he was gone. "Bla--" Kurt began but coughs racked at his body.   
  
Smoke covered the hallway and Blaine was lost to him. At his shoulder, Finn stirred and Kurt moved on impulse, ignoring the tears spilling from his eyes, the screaming pain in his hand. The need to run and find Blaine.  
  
He was covered in gasoline. All it would take was one flame. Just one.  
  
Kurt pushed it away and dragged Finn to the door, his hand closing over the handle, the heat burning his skin.  
  
Air hit him hard. Along with camera flashes and sirens.   
  
His legs gave out and arms reached for him.  
  
 _Blaine_ , he thought as darkness took him.  _Blaine._  
  


* * *

  
  
"Sir? Sir, you need to get in the ambulance. We need to check you over."   
  
Kurt barely registered the voice, his eyes glued to the front door of Jacob's house. "He should be out by now," he muttered under his breath. "Come on!"  
  
"Your brother, he--" That Kurt heard.  
  
"What about him? Is he okay?" Kurt stood up, the blanket falling from his shoulders. "Is Finn okay?"  
  
"He's lost some blood, but the wound doesn't look too serious. The ambulance is leaving now." The man placed a hand on Kurt's shoulder, posing slightly for the flashing cameras to the side. "You inhaled a lot of smoke, you should go with him to be checked up." He had his hand on his hip now, his expression deeply serious. Then he threw back his head, pressed a hand to his throat, gave an airy laugh. The cameras caught it all.  
  
"O--kay. Could you tell him I'll follow? I mean If he's conscious? And--" Kurt frowned. "Are you flexing?"  
  
"What? No? I was just-- Look, I think you should come with me and just have--"  
  
Kurt walked away quickly, as the door of Jacob's house burst open.  _Oh, please just let it be okay. After all this, can't we just have a happy ending? Please please please_  "Blaine." Kurt muttered the name over and over, his nails digging deep into the flesh of his palm.  
  
A fireman came through the haze of smoke and flames, his shoulders hunched against the inferno. As he came closer, Kurt realised he had his arms wrapped around another figure, leaning into him for support.  
  
"Blaine!" Kurt ran forward, not caring about the burn in his chest. Someone made a grab for him and he ducked them easily. "Blaine!" The figure was dropping and Kurt met him at his feet, the ground rubbing hard against his knees. Paramedics quickly surrounded them, gently taking the bundle from Blaine's arms. It took Kurt a moment to realise it was Rachel.  
  
"I need to-- there's another other boy--" Blaine coughed harshly and made a weak attempt to move backwards.  
  
"No!" Kurt grabbed at his shirt. "You're not going back in! It's a miracle you made it out!"  
  
"But, it's my fau--" The coughing broke up his words, and instead he looked up at Kurt, his face blackened by smoke and his eyes red and leaking. "It's my--"  
  
"No, it isn't!" Kurt said, finally giving way to the tears that he had held onto since leaving the house. "None of this is your fault, Blaine. You have to know that." Kurt wrapped his arms tight around the other boy. "Let the fire department do their job."  
  
Blaine hugged Kurt back tightly, as paramedics began to tug lightly at his arm, began to insist he get in the ambulance. "Stay with me, Kurt," he whispered into the shell of his ear. "Please stay with me."  
  
"Always," Kurt answered, pressing a kiss to his cheek.


	17. Epilogue

Michael checked his reflection over as he smoothed the gel into his hair, tilting this way and that. He looked good, like, date good. If you ignored the terrified expression on his face that was.  
  
Okay.  _Okay!_  He had to relax. Kurt was coming! God, it had felt like ages since he had seen the other boy. Sure, they talked on the phone every day and emailed pretty much hourly but it had been three months since he had actually lain eyes on him. And that had been a hurried moment outside of a courtroom.  
  
"Mike!" His father called up. "The Hummels are here!"  
  
 _Kurt!_  
  
Bounding down the stairs, Michael skidded into the front room, nearly knocking his father over in the process. "Hi! Hello. Hi!" He grinned at Kurt. "Hey."  
  
"Hello," Kurt sounded almost shy as he played with the hem of his waistcoat. "It's good to see you."  
  
"You too, did you have a pleasant trip?"  _Oh, God. What the hell was that? Don't ask about traffic. Don't ask about traffic._ "How was traffic?"  _Oh, fuck you, Brain._  
  
"It was--" Kurt burst out laughing, easing some of the tension from the room. "It was fine. Thank you."  
  
Kurt's father rolled his eyes and crossed the room, nodded brusquely and taking Michael's hand in a firm clasp. "Pleased to meet you. I mean, you know. Properly." He shot Kurt a narrowed look and smiled tightly. " _At last_."  
  
Michael blushed and rubbed at the back of his neck. "You too, Sir."  
  
"You have a lovely home," Kurt's step-mother announced, her voice strained. "It's really-- really very lovely. Isn't it, Finn?"  
  
"Oh, my God! Is that your television?" Finn wandered off, his walk nearly free of his limp and fingers stretched towards it almost reverently. He ghosted his fingertips over the screen hesitantly, as if afraid to mar such perfection.  
  
"I'm glad you could make it," Michael's dad said, turning from Finn. "I mean, I know Mike has been looking forward to it. It's all he has talked about for weeks--" He tailed off, his gaze on Michael's face. He did that a lot these days. As if trying to memorise every line, every expression. Just in case. "Sorry, I--" He shrugged and stuck his hands in his pockets. The tension crawled back into the room, with the exception of Finn, who was trying to see of the television was as long as the length of his body.  
  
"No, no," Burt said. "It's great. You know, the kids seeing each other-- They should, you know." And now he was doing it. Staring at Kurt with that same fear and gratefulness. "Should be a-- a fun two weeks. Yeah."  
  
The two men stood for a moment, staring at each other awkwardly. Burt's hand clenched and unclenched on Kurt's shoulder, his jaw tightening.  
  
"I want-- I'd like--" Michael's father blinked and he was shocked to see tears in the man's eyes. "Kurt." He decided words weren't enough and grabbed the boy from Burt's clasp and into his chest, squeezing him into a bear hug. "Thank you," he managed after a moment. "Thank you for giving me my son back."  
  
Michael could feel tears touching at his own eyes and turned away, his hand to his mouth. Before he had time to let the moment sweep him up, Finn's arms were around him tight.  
  
"It's great to see you, dude," he said. "And in clothes that actually fit you!"  
  
"You too!" Michael laughed and gave a hug back. "I can walk now without tripping over."  
  
"So." Michael's father had broken his embrace with Kurt and was wiping at his eyes. "I hope you enjoy your stay, if you er-- If you come with me I'll show you your rooms. Michael? You'll probably want sometime alone with--" he smiled tightly, "your boyfriend."  
  
He was trying, Michael realised. Maybe he always had been but Jeremiah had filled his head with so much distrust that he had been blind to it. Hopefully someone would turn over the rock he was under some day soon. Michael couldn't believe that he had actually thought that had been love. That he had fell for it. Of course, that had been before Kurt.  
  
"Sure, do you want to see my room?" The others laughed and Michael blushed on hearing it out loud. "I mean--"  
  
"I'd love to!" Kurt took a step forward, scowling at Finn's thumbs-up and slow wink. "I could do with a break."  
  
They took the stairs two at a time and Michael had one of those moments, one of the many he had since he had got his freedom back, just pure simple joy at being a teenager again. Turning, he grabbed at Kurt's hand and dragged him into his room, kicking the door closed behind them.  
  
"Is that an Elaine Page post--" Kurt's words were cut off by Michael's lips. He walked them backwards until the back of Kurt's knees hit the bed and he tripped, bringing Michael down on top of him.  
  
"Hello, Kurt," Michael smiled, kissing the tip of his nose. "Sorry, that's been on my mind for, oh, six months?"  
  
"Really?" Kurt grinned, his fingers playing with the curls at the nape of Michael's neck. "What else have you been thinking about?"  
  
Michael changed his face into intense thought. " _Clue_." He nodded. "Finn has me obsessed with  _Clue_."  
  
Kurt sighed dramatically and moved his fingers over the puckered flesh above Michael's ear. "This is healing."  
  
"Yeah," Michael rolled onto his side, splaying his hand on Kurt's stomach. "My wrist, too." He held up his hand to show the scar that now adorned the skin. "Dad has me booked in for laser surgery for the uh-- the tattoo."  
  
"Pretty soon, it'll be like it never happened." Kurt blushed. "I mean, not in your head of course. I understand it won't just disappear overnight and--"  
  
"Kurt!" Michael laughed and kissed him again, slow and long. With a gentle nip to his lip he pulled back. "No, it won't go overnight. I still have-- dreams. I remember. And then having to relay it all to the court cameras. The pain will always be there, but it'll fade. And be replaced by new things." He smiled, and played with Kurt's fingers. "Better things."  
  
"They'll go down you know," Kurt said, anger in his voice. "There are more discoveries being made every day about the corruption. People like you. There's no way they will keep the law for bond-servants after all this." Kurt huddled closer. "After what Dalton did to you. To Jacob." He paused and his eyes flickered away. "Dave."  
  
For a moment, Michael tensed. He understand that deep down, even if Kurt didn't like to admit it, that he felt something akin to sympathy for Michael's ex owner. Michael had no such luxury. All he felt was hate. Maybe in time that would fade, too.  
  
 _Maybe._  
  
"Don't worry. They will." He sat up and pulled Kurt with him, his fingers tracing his cheekbone. "They'll pay for everything. And in the meantime we'll have each other."  
  
"They need to pay for Rachel, too." Kurt shook his head sadly. "If she takes one more solo from me by lifting up her top to show her bullet scar..." Kurt leant forward, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I suspect it's because she doesn't realise her bra is see-through. Mr. Schue is border line rabid every lesson." He frowned. "And Santana always seems to egg her on."  
  
“Yes,” Michael nodded with a laugh. “She keeps showing me on  _Skype_. My dad walked in once and spent the week asking me if I was  _really sure_.”  
  
"I hate being away from you," Kurt murmured, moving his forehead so it pressed against Michael's. "I feel incomplete."  
  
"Well--" Michael grinned, trying to curb the excitement. He'd been dying to tell him for weeks. "I'm pretty far behind but my dad has hired me, like, a million tutors." Michael shrugged. "I'm thinking about a college in New York. You know, like you? Since I wandered off, uh, track last time."  
  
"Really?" Kurt sat up and gave a little bounce. "Your dad would let you?"  
  
Michael nodded. "It took some convincing. He gets nervous when I'm out of his sight too long, but-- I  _need_  to do this, Kurt." He tilted his head. "He'll probably be up every weekend, though."  
  
"This is fantastic! We could live together, Blaine and--" Kurt's face paled. "I'm sorry! I mean Mic--"  
  
Michael shook his head and hugged him tight. "It's okay. It doesn't hurt when  _you_  say it. Nothing you could do could hurt me."  
  
Kurt pulled back, his eyes searching his face. "It's really going to be alright, isn't it?"  
  
Of course, if he reached deep inside himself, he could find something leaden and dark. Sometimes it spoke to him when he lay awake in the small hours:  _what happened to you? Do you remember? Was...it your fault?_  'The wolf hour,' he'd heard someone call it, when memories and failings came roaring back to the surface and when every last thing he had ever done wrong or gone through whispered to him as he tried to fall back asleep. And he'd been typical Michael: he'd wallowed in the pain, grieved, and finally rejected it. Those wolf hours were less common these nights. "Yeah," Michael breathed at last. "I really think it is."  
  
"It's yours, you know." Kurt looked up at him under his eyelashes, his expression coy. "My heart."  
  
A shiver ran down Michael's spine at the familiar words, and he shoved it away. With another kiss to Kurt's lips, he pulled back and stared into the boy's sea green eyes. "No. I don't want to own it." Kurt's smile faltered. "So how about we share it? And you share mine."  
  
“Hmm.” Kurt beamed, leaning across and wrapping his arms tight around him. "I guess I can live with that."   
  


**The End**


End file.
